A Sky's Charisma
by AthanatosOra
Summary: Sawada Tsunayoshi's happiness crumbled within the span of a half-year. Events led from one to another, up until he was the sole survivor of a conflict that destroyed Vongola and their enemy. Tired and grieving, he accepted death. But instead of ending up in the afterlife and in the company of his family, he finds himself in the form of his 13-year-old, "Dame" self. (Time-travel)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** **: A KHR fanfic. When I have 20+ Naruto fics that are unfinished and unpublished. Ahahahahaha. *throws confetti and glitter with a straight face***

 ***OOC: Note that this Tsuna is OOC. We wouldn't know for _certain_ , considering TYL Tsuna is literally given about 5 seconds of actual airtime; this is just my take on how Tsuna is ten years later, added in with the fact that he lost his whole famiglia. (Yes, it's one of **_**those**_ **time travel stories—"oh no, I lost everything and am now in the past where everything/everyone is back but they don't know me, I'm so sad." Cliche, bland, typical—whatever you want to call it—but I** _ **wanted**_ **to.)**

 ***Canon Divergent: I have not gotten far in KHR. I just finished the Kokuyo Arc in the Manga, and all the rest of my knowledge is from wiki and various other fanfics. Feel free to point out discrepancies that directly conflict with canon, but note that there will be a few that are purposeful for the sake of this story. I've also taken liberties with the concept of flames and use.**

 ***Romance: This fic is Gen. There are no planned pairings, and I don't think I have to warn about any subtle romance either (because even though there are a few pairings I like in the KHR verse, I don't see myself writing them in this story). So, no pairings, I will not accept "requests" for certain pairing-ish interactions.** **Still, _any_ implied romance/relationship that makes itself known will merely be background noise to the purpose of the story. Especially because all of the main characters, barring Tsuna and Reborn, are like… Children, mentally.**

 ***WARNINGS: Potentially graphic depictions of violence in this story; possible triggers. There won't be much, but there** _ **will**_ **be blood, battles, pain, and varying/questionable introspection. I'll put up a warning at the beginning of chapters I think may make some readers queasy.**

 **[Chapters will vary in length, anywhere from 2k-8k with the occasional breach. Generic time travel fic is generic; I haven't seen many KHR time travel fics though so I figured "why not." A/Ns will NOT be this long, I am just getting most of the necessities out of the way.]**

 **Cover art by me. I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

 _The sky is a stationary existence._

 _It does not move, it does not shift—and yet it is always there, omnipresent while fixed._

 _It does not_ need _to move, for it is as untouchable and untraceable as it is far-reaching._

 _It does not need to seek out it's guardians, for it's guardians shall come to it. It need only wait for them to arrive—for its storm to swell, for its sun to rise, for its cloud to drift by, for its rain to cleanse, for its mist to shroud, and for its lightning to crackle._

 _Where the sky exists, the guardians gather._

 _The sky does not move, it does not need to._

 _For the sky is their home. Where the sky exists they will gravitate naturally by instinct to join_ their _sky._

 _And it is necessary. A lonely sky's attributes necessitates this natural order._

 _Deeper and far more vast than the ocean._

 _Quieter and far lonelier than a stilled lake._

 _All bright hues and whistling winds, but devoid of a forest's life._

 _All-seeing and ever present, yet intangible and forced to play the role of the quiet spectator._

 _Until_ they _come. And they_ will _._

 _Because while a sky becomes little more than a void without its guardians, the rest simply do not exist without their sky._

 _As long as the sky remains, the guardians will gather._

 _Without fail._

* * *

His lungs, raw and battered, burn with each lungful of acrid smoke inhaled.

(Why was he still breathing?)

His legs, one half-torn apart, the other littered with minor fractures, groan under his weight with each laborious step he takes.

(Why was he still walking?)

He keeps one hand—his left, to free his primary—on his midsection, a weak sun flame flickering intermittently.

(Why was he still fighting to stay alive?)

Blood spills from his lips as he silently works to staunch the flow, and a violent cough tears through his battered body.

 _They're dead_ , he thinks. Knows. Because it is due to what he had seen that left him in such a state to begin with.

(Their hands interlocked, their faces unrecognizable because of the burns and the carnage and _he_ is _missing his legs_ —but it is undoubtedly them, their bond is palpable even in death—)

Even though he was a clumsy, awkward-footed child before, he is no longer the same. He stopped, matured, changed, and became one worthy of his title.

(—Silver glinting in the roaring flames, dented and worn and decorated in blood, so much _blood_ that is seeping from the weapons' wielder just a few feet away whose not so much a singular person anymore so much as _two separate parts_ now—)

He had long since claimed many rankings, and he was—is—no longer one to be fooled or surprised by the ill-planned.

(—He's missing his arms, the arms that he used to pursue his dream, to heal their comrades, to challenge the world—he's _missing his arms_ but he is surrounded by the bodies of enemies and _he did his best_ which gives a painfully _vindictive_ respite—)

But seeing his family in the aftermath slowly, but surely, breaks down his years of change.

(—Black, unruly hair, matted by sweat and _blood_ and electric-green eyes stare off into the distance unseeing, blinded for all eternity, because the bastards _beheaded_ him and _he was just a child_ —)

Because it was with _them_ that he changed to begin with.

(—A smile, the same one he always wore, but peaceful and so painfully _accepting_ as he lies there, his own sword buried in his stomach to the hilt and _he is smiling even in death_ —)

Because seeing them, the people he loves, would die for and die _again_ , strewn about the battlefield as corpses, or _worse_ —

(—All that is left are various blood splatters across the desolate crater, and _he definitely got them all_ , it hurts, it _hurts_ knowing that his existence is wiped out unjustly— _he didn't want to be forgotten, he never wanted to fade into the background again_ —but _he didn't go alone and that's what matters_ —)

—It eats at him. It slowly kills him, an agonizing progression. He pays little mind to the non-life-threatening injuries and gives the bare minimum of attention to the fatal wounds.

(He can almost hear his Storm fussing over his injuries, exclaiming in overly-loud tones about his lack of care of his well-being, his Lightning attempting to help and falling into a predictable argument with the other, his Sun offering his _extreme_ help, his Rain laughing but giving him that _look_ that spoke volumes, his Cloud all but demanding him to _let them_ fuss over him because he _said_ so, and his Mists quietly observing from the corner and placed at _just_ the right vantage point to detain him if he so chooses to abscond.)

But he doesn't. Because they aren't there, the Vongola Mansion has been burned to the ground, all of it's inhabitants and followers—save for _one person_ —gone with it.

(So why? Why is he still going?)

Because he knows better than to simply give up, despite how much he yearns to. He is more afraid of the thought of meeting his disappointed family in the afterlife than continuing on.

(His family, blood or not. The Varia, CEDEF, the Arcobaleno, _his Guardians,_ _Reborn—_ )

But he has already paid _them_ back, tenfold. On the very night of the attack, of the death and _loss_ of _the rest of his family_ — _revenge_ was exacted. Not a soul exists in the barren wasteland, and he is the only one left.

Another coughing fit ripples through his body and he collapses with a quiet, disagreeing hiss, clutching hopelessly at his reopened wound. He has used up all of his flames, and it is only a matter of time that he either dies of exsanguination or flame depletion. He knows this.

And for all that he has cowered and shied away from it in the past, the idea of "death" is a strangely (morbidly) pleasant one.

With more willpower required than he expects, he shifts from his place on the ground to face the darkened sky. The stars are invisible, their own sparse lights overpowered by the flaming inferno surrounding him.

He can't even remember the sequence of events that led up to this. His exhaustion and the looming threat of death, waiting to claim his life, shroud his thoughts and mind like an impenetrable mist.

He takes a moment to reach for his flames, mere sparks of their normal grandeur, and a faint clarity returns to him once more.

He knows that the Vongola had been in good standing with practically the entire Mafia world—he had _worked_ for that acceptance, those alliances, and eventually those tentative friendships—and even the few families that held a grudge or two had little reason to outright _attack_ them. Even less so with he and his guardians being known as the strongest fighters in the Mafia.

 _White hair_. Chocolate brown eyes blink slowly, fighting away the darkness creeping slowly into his vision. _Byakuran,_ he silently thinks. _And Kawahira._

He doesn't know why it—they—come to mind, but he doesn't like how his intuition, usually a steady hum in the back of his mind, is all but _singing_ as he thinks about them.

How? Why? Are they involved? Where are they? Are they alright?

Two tentative bonds. One with a rising Sky, a friendship that isn't quite _friendship_ but close enough for them to relax in each other's presences. It makes him think of marshmallows and witty banter, somewhat forced when centered within the wary, distrustful gazes of those that had seen the future. The other bond is with a man of secrets, who reveals little on himself and somehow knows everything about _everyone else_. Tsuna thinks of tea, of quiet contemplation; an observer.

They are involved, somehow. And he wants to know, feels like he _needs_ to know. Because what if—what if they are directly involved with _them_ , what if, _somehow_ —

He takes a wet, shuddering breath, careful not to aggravate his injuries further. His racing thoughts slow down, still, and he resigns himself.

… _But it doesn't matter anymore._

He closes his eyes, and _smiles_. It is the first time he has done so in weeks. Maybe months.

And he smiles because he has, despite it's short end, lived his life to the fullest. He has done as much as he can, and even though he knows the Mafia world will likely be in tatters because he never exactly created a back-up for the back-up of his back-up plan in the event something happened to him (Gokudera, Xanxus, and Reborn were dead after all), he cannot bring himself to mourn for the fact.

Because he is going to die. Because he _killed them_ , every last one of _them_ that dared attack _his family_. Because his journey is over, and he will not fight the inevitable.

 _Because he is going to see his family again_.

The pain he felt at their losses slowly mends at the thought, and he draws in his last breath.

And it is on the eve of October 14th, aged twenty-four, that _Vongola Decimo_ Sawada Tsunayoshi quietly passes away.

* * *

Ten years in the past, the air stills entirely.

It is day in Italy, and a young, up-and-coming hitman blinks at the splintered crack on his frames that appeared without reason. A young child with electric-green eyes blinks blearily in his room, wondering what woke him from his nap. A teen with discolored eyes lifts his head from where he is seated and peers up at the door.

It is evening in Namimori, Japan. A young baseball prodigy stares at the remains of his chair that had inexplicably collapsed from underneath him. A passionate boxer stares out of his bedroom window with an uncharacteristically wan expression. A quiet girl looks up from where she is sitting on the floor, tending to her wounds. A prefect narrows his eyes on the cracked teacup that splintered within his very hands.

In Namimori, just outside of the Sawada residence, the quiet of night takes on an eerie, ominous aura. Stills.

The wind slow to a stop, the sounds recede, and life pauses in an almost breathless beat of silence. Anticipation.

Waiting. Waiting.

 _Waiting_.

(For what?)

Hauntingly glowing eyes snap open.

 _And the world bursts into a fierce firestorm of flames an orange hue._

* * *

 _A lonely, broken Sky. Shattered remains that just barely hold together. Weathered, strained, and weakened._

But a Sky nonetheless.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** **: More Angst ahead, guys. I promise, it will change eventually but I** **feel it's sort of necessary right now. To be fair, most people don't take** **losing everything important to them** **well. Tsuna will bounce back eventually, as is generally expected of protagonists.**

 **Word count is ~5.6k.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

* * *

He does not come to with the world spinning in upheaval.

He is not delirious, confused, or without his bearings.

He simply sits up, blinking at his surroundings, a flame flickering wildly at his forehead, and a clarity unimpeded by significant pain or injury.

The room is singed, but only slightly, and he can feel the uncomfortable, strangely foreign burn that his flames produce. His flames themselves are as strong as ever, but un-contained, _raw_ , and scorch him from the inside out—a result of strong will contrasting a weak physical strength.

It is in his own room that he sits, he realizes, the one he had left at the age of fifteen when he departed for Italy after completing middle school. There are signs of its lived-in state, looking a far cry from a near decade of being untouched. Its very existence and immaculate state is a discrepancy to his memory, as he knows for a fact that his parents moved not long after he had ascended to the position of Decimo.

A brief, cursory glance to the calendar on his desk verifies his mounting suspicions.

He is in the past.

Tsuna sighs as his flames recede, wincing at the strange elasticity they hold—snapping back at him with an unfamiliar viciousness, like a taut rubber band. (He would need to rectify that.)

This… Isn't exactly what he envisioned when he thought he was "going to see his family again."

He does not know _how_ or particularly _why_ he is in the past, but he is able to keep a calmed mindset in the situation. Time travel, while rare, is not a foreign concept to him (and even "rare" is disputable, considering how often his lightening guardian had still liked to utilize the Ten-Year-Bazooka in the future) and stranger things _have_ occurred to him. (He had long since stopped his habit of lamenting such a fact, and even regards it with fond, if slightly exasperated, amusement. Despite that, he isn't quite sure how he feels about this.)

The only question, however, is how long he will linger.

Tsuna noticed the differences immediately after awakening, his flames being a major contributor. It had been years since his own flames _attacked_ him from mere activation, and he knows well enough what the cause of such a situation is. Even putting aside the fact that he is, visually, a teen once again (his hands lack their callouses, he lacks the toned and well-defined yet not bulky muscle he had developed after years of Mafia work and being under Reborn's tutelage; it is _painfully_ obvious that he is in some sort of regressed state even without the aid of a reflective object) he can sense the differences with clarity gained from his years of training and experience in awareness.

He isn't quite sure how time travel works, exactly, but he doesn't need his intuition to know that it is a rather _important_ factor for one to remain in their actual body if they are to return to their time, eventually.

Then again, his last moments are of his dead (deceased, gone, wrongly _murdered_ , dead _dead dead_ ) famliglia, and he himself had been dying, within the confines of the quickly encroaching fire.

He quite literally has nothing left to go back to, in either case.

Both hope and despair lance through him at the acknowledgement. He had long since passed the mourning period (or so he had thought) after their deaths, because he had still had a goal. To avenge them, bring destruction to the ones that had dared oppose the Decimo and his family, the ones who had dared to _kill_ them.

Tsuna closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. Because he no longer has a vendetta—not only had he successfully carried out his revenge in the name of his family, but he is no longer in the same _time_ —he no longer has a drive to focus, _center_ him, distract him from his grief. The ones that had dared oppose them, the family that attacked, most likely do not even exist in this time.

(And though he has his suspicions that they were not the _only_ ones, that they had help—because how else could a group such as _Vongola_ fall to a group that was otherwise unnamed a mere decade ago?—it is not possible for him to find out at the current time. He can do so at a later date, but he has far too little resources and backing, not to mention motivation, to go on a manhunt for what could inevitably led to a dead end.

… That, and his hatred has already been paid; his anger is quenched. He was never the vengeful sort, and as a result feels no strong urge to eliminate them in the current—especially what with his suspicions of a greater force. If provoked, he will attack. But he has no compulsion to _seek_ destruction.)

Right now, in the quiet of the night, approximately a decade into the past, Sawada Tsunayoshi is a mere teenager with more than enough time on his hands. As a true thirteen-year-old, he had thought his life was miserable with too little time to relax and have fun.

But his mindset, that of the 24-year-old Vongola Decimo, finds it too quiet. Because the dichotomy between himself of _then_ and _now_ are vastly different, to the point where even "oceans apart" does not aptly describe it. And the quiet silence eats away at him, because his sharp mind, his memories still fresh from where he had just _died_ , refuse to let him forget his grief.

He stares out at the blackened sky, and does something he hasn't done in years. Something he didn't have the chance to do before.

(Because he is _Decimo_ , because the few still alive _need their leader to stay strong_ , because _even the smallest amount of weakness will invite disaster,_ because _he still has a family to avenge and he has to kill_ them _, bring_ them _down_ with him so they _cannot continue to destroy the world_ —)

Moisture brims at the corner of his eyes. He does not acknowledge the warm rivulets that travel past his cheeks, almost eerily silent as his eyes blink unseeingly past the dampness.

He mourns.

For his lost family. For the mother and father he never got to say goodbye to. For the friends ( _Kyoko, Haru, Tetsuya, Hana, Kensuke_ ) that he had to watch get pulled into the Mafia and face the consequences of it. For the comrades ( _Basil, I-Pin, Fuuta, Ken, Chikusa, Bianchi, Shamal, Xanxus, Squalo, Bel, Levi, Lussuria, the ex-arcobaleno_ ) that were already part of the Mafia but that Tsuna never had the chance to thank for constantly being by his side.

For Hayato, who should never have been forced into a corner as he had been as a child, who should have been loved and appreciated _without_ the need of being "useful." Hayato, who was Tsuna's volatile Storm but stood right there by his side, as calm as he could be (as he _needed_ to be), during the growing chaos.

For Takeshi, who should have stayed on his path of baseball, who should never have picked up the sword, who shouldn't have had to kill to simply _live_. Takeshi, who was Tsuna's calming Rain yet raged and roared with anger at the times where Tsuna was too weak and unable to do so himself.

For Lambo, who should have lived as a beloved, cherished child, who was already stuck with the Mafia because he was _born_ into it but still could have lived a better life. Lambo, who was Tsuna's dependent Lightning, yet was the first to tell them to _"go, I'll be okay, I can't always rely on you guys—please_ trust _me"_ when they had to move.

For Kyōya, who should have been forced to remain in Namimori, to continue living a peaceful life within the homely confines of the town designated as his territory. Kyōya, who was Tsuna's ambivalent, wandering Cloud, yet never left his side _once_ throughout the whole ordeal up until his brutal demise.

For Ryōhei, who should have pursued his dream of becoming a boxer, who should never have seen blood beyond that of a simple match. Ryōhei-nii, who was Tsuna's healing Sun yet did not hesitate to mow down the threats to his life, alternating between healing Tsuna and their friends and rendering enemies to mere splatters.

For Chrome, who never should have been treated as she had been before joining him, who shouldn't have needed _mist organs_ to continue to so much as _live_. Chrome, who was Tsuna's stable and meek Mist, yet displayed utmost determination and almost cruelty against their foes when any of _h_ _er_ family was in danger.

For Mukuro, who shouldn't have been put through hell as he had been, who might have lived a peaceful life had he not been thrown head-first into the mafia. Mukuro, who was Tsuna's other, far less innocent and more beguiling Mist, yet spoke nothing but truth to him even in the face of painful questions throughout the waging battles.

For Reborn, who might have still been alive had he not joined the Vongola at Tsuna's behest. Reborn, who was technically Tsuna's first friend and was likely killed protecting them all.

For the people he had loved, lost, and failed.

 _He mourns._

* * *

In the morning, he is "normal," and his mind is orderly.

As much as is possible for him given his situation, at the very least.

With a forced smile, he stiffly greets his maman ( _kaa-san_ , he silently corrects before he can speak the word aloud—thirteen-year-old Sawada Tsunayoshi is not fluent in French, Italian, and the various other languages _he_ knows and therefore does not use the endearing term for his mother), who beams back at him. If she notices the strained edge to his expression, she does not comment.

Breakfast is a quiet affair—(quiet to _him_ , because meals in the Vongola mansion never ended without an explosion or several, whether involving actual gunpowder or colorful expletives in several languages)—with Nana chattering mindlessly and Tsuna giving the occasional nod or grin around small bites of breakfast to show that he is listening.

He quietly basks in the petite woman's presence, relishing the homely atmosphere and peace that surrounds her like a comforting shroud. It eases some of the tension he himself feels, and allows his guard to fall ever so slightly. Not completely, never _completely_ —he may never be able to accomplish such a feat until he finds the rest of his family again.

The bittersweet sting of seeing her again is not as strong as it could have been, but he is not surprised. _They_ had gone after his separated relations first, his _mother and father._

 _A warning_ , it had been labeled as, when Tsuna was notified of the brutal ends his parents had been met with. _A vow, a promise, that Vongola would fall._

Tsuna had been beyond _livid_. Because, even if he _had_ grown somewhat more distant from Nana and Iemitsu due to his position and Iemitsu's lack, not only had he vowed to not leave his family an ocean away as his father had once done, but they were still his parents. They were his blood, and even if he could quite readily say that his guardians were his family, his brothers, his sisters—

They were his _parents_.

And _they_ had killed them off as a warning, a silent, almost dismissing thought to their existences.

Tsuna takes a moment to calm down, to ease the _burning_ that threatens to make itself known. And calm, quiet serenity takes over once more.

(He acknowledges that, perhaps, he is somewhat _too_ outwardly settled for the situation; the darkness festering beneath. In his defense, his entire life up to that point has been chaotic—every spontaneous, outlandish happenstance an ex-Vendicare convict could think of, has very likely occurred at one point in time during his life.

He isn't exactly _used_ to this situation, specifically. He isn't as put together as he forces himself to be, but what he _is_ accustomed to is taking things in stride. Panicking in the past never truly got him anywhere or anything aside from a few extra beatings and more screaming. Forced, tenuous calm is what he has adopted as his automatic reaction over the years and _it is all that he has at the moment_.)

It is with slight disappointment that he departs for school without any mention of tutoring or a mysterious flier. It was never something he had noted the exact date of, but he silently regrets not documenting the day that started the metaphorical avalanche that swept him off of his feet and flung him into the Mafia world.

His balance is strained without them. And his forced calm isn't as useful when he uses it against his internal conflicts as opposed to the tiring—but nostalgic and, admittedly, amusing—conflicts that his family had once partook in on a daily basis.

He misses them.

* * *

Any doubts he may have had about being in the past are viciously slain by the time he stumbles into his classroom.

He didn't really have doubts, per se, but it is one thing to be presented with an idea and to be shoved face-first into the undeniable _truth_. And _truth_ tends to hold various shades of _pain_.

The children (because that is what they are; _children_ ) laugh and jeer at him, at _Dame-Tsuna_ , but he is far too focused on centering himself (calm, control, stop panicking, _think_ ) to pay any mind to their hot air.

Sasagawa Ryōhei. He had crashed into him on the way to school, and had darted away almost immediately after, leaving the young boxer confused even beyond his usual shouts of extreme. ( _He's passionate, he has his innocence, he is happy,_ carefree _, nothing like the Ryōhei_ you _know, the Ryōhei_ you _foughtbledperservered with against_ them _, he doesn't_ see—)

Hibari Kyōya. His breath seized upon seeing him standing at the gates, observing each passing, wary student with a scrutinizing gaze. ( _He is alive, he is whole, he's young,_ _his world does not exist beyond Namimori. He has always been sharper than most, do not make eye contact, don't let him see_ you _because he doesn't_ know _and he isn't the_ same—)

Tsuna has had nightmares before. He has had more nightmares than dreams, more nightmares than hours of sleep. This is all too _real_ to be any sort of nightmare, and all his doubts that he didn't realize he had have disappeared without a second consideration.

He has only just recently said farewell to those that he loves, and seeing them again so soon (young, carefree, _innocent, different_ ) is worst than the twist of a scalding-hot knife. The hesitant, emotional part of him wants to stay away, wants _them_ to keep their distance. Because he feels that even the smallest touch, the briefest exchange, will cause _death_.

 _Split in two, face drawn and blood-splattered. Slashed and tortured, left hand severed and right limb gone entirely. Both dead, the Invincible and Overpowering, both inexplicably and irrevocably_ dead—

"Dame-Tsuna?"

Tsuna does not flinch, but the tension in his shoulders grows exponentially. He does not need to lift his head to verify the voice, he knows the man—boy, he's only a _boy_ —standing before him, and he does not wish to chance his tenuous balance any further.

(It shouldn't hurt so much. He knows that Yamamoto Takeshi holds no real ill-will towards him, never had, and merely calls him that because everyone else does. But it is yet another reminder that he is not the same. He is not the Yamamoto Takeshi _he_ knew, the Takeshi that knew _him_. Sawada Tsunayoshi and Yamamoto Takeshi are not friends, here. The ten years of friendship he experienced means nothing in this time where it hasn't happened. Where it doesn't _exist_.

 _They are not friends._ )

He roughly shoulders past Yamamoto Takeshi (he does not hear the gasps and insulted yells from his classmates for _Dame-Tsuna_ shoving _Yamamoto_ ) and collapses into his seat, dropping his bag to the ground and resolutely fixing his gaze to the window.

Tsuna does not know how much time passes, but eventually, everyone settles into their respective seats as the sensei comes in to begin the lesson. His gaze drifts to the worn desk before him, and his mouth curls into a small, rueful smile.

He is… Not as centered as he wishes. It is a fact he acknowledges with a hint of bitterness within the confines of his mind.

He needs to calmly think through his thoughts, attempt to resolve and recover the fragments of himself that had been lost. To settle. He is no psychologist, but he knows enough about himself to know that the "farewell" he bid to his family the previous night did little in the way of reconciling this drastic change.

If only it were so simple.

"Sawada!"

It takes Tsuna a moment to respond. (How long has it been since he has been referred to by his surname, and not "Jyūdaime," "Decimo," "Neo-Primo," "Tsuna," "Tsunayoshi," "Vongola"—?)

Once he realizes that, yes, it _is_ him being addressed, he blinks up at the irate visage of his sensei, glaring at him from across the room.

Nezu-sensei sneers, jabbing a finger at the board. "Since you're so sure that you don't need to listen to the lecture, _Sawada_ , come up here and solve the problem." The children's ensuing laughter buzzes in the background.

White noise, a distant hum. He is still focusing all of his efforts on holding himself together. From what, he isn't quite sure—but he knows his fragile stability is greatly due to his two (not friends, _they don't know him_ ) upperclassmen from earlier and a specific classmate within the very same room.

Tsuna stands up.

He walks to the front of the room, picks up the chalk, glances over the simple algebra problem, and quickly jots down the answer.

"Done," he states placidly, dusting the chalk residue from his fingertips absent-mindedly.

The classroom is silent as Nezu, dumbfounded, eyes the completed equation. Tsuna can visibly see the man deflate as he checks and double checks the problem, before he murmurs a quiet, "… That's correct."

Silence resumes for a few brief moments as his classmates process the fact that Tsuna solved it correctly, before Yamamoto lifts a hand to cup his mouth and shouts.

"Nice, Dame-Tsuna!"

Tsuna jerks and stumbles, as though physically struck.

He needs to center himself.

 _Now_.

Tsuna calmly and quickly places the chalk back in its place, and pivots on his heel towards the door.

"S-Sawada, where do you think you're going?" He hears Nezu-sensei call, sounding pained. "Class is still in session!"

He stops at the door and turns, forcing a genuine-enough apologetic smile onto his face. "I'm not feeling very well, so I'm going to the nurse's office."

He steps out of the classroom and shoves the door closed with more force than necessary.

Tsuna takes a quiet breath, the action echoing in his ears with the silence of the halls surrounding him.

And he runs.

* * *

Steel-grey eyes, clouded in thought, stare blankly at the finished wood of the desk.

Hibari Kyōya thinks about the not-exactly-outstanding yet strangely memorable incident from earlier that very morning. It had been a simple routine, a uniform check, and as per the usual he stood vigilance at the school gates to evaluate the passing students (and suitably punish the ones that failed to meet the standard).

One student in particular had caught his eye upon coming into view, and it had puzzled the prefect, initially.

Sawada Tsunayoshi, his mind had instantly supplied upon seeing the slight, weak frame, the disheveled and wild hair. Outwardly, the boy had been normal, unassuming, but Kyōya knew better than to simply ignore the strange discontent that hummed at the back of his mind. There was something _off_ about the herbivore, and he hadn't known what.

He had seen the herbivore in passing, and was privy to the words others spoke on him ("Dame-Tsuna," the other students usually referred to him as) and Kyōya had always known that the herbivore known as Sawada Tsunayoshi was every bit the grass-eater everyone thought he was.

However.

 _That_ particular morning, when the herbivore had walked by Kyōya, he had _seen_ what set him off so. There was a haunted, distracted look within the boy's eyes, a look that was equal parts _wary_ and _harmed_ but somehow _not weak_.

Puzzling.

It was something far more than what Kyōya had seen in the eyes of the other herbivorous students—even the ones that had, reportedly, made suicide attempts, or come upon certain misfortunes in life. There had been a certain gravitas to _this_ herbivore's aura, and Kyōya had immediately identified something _wrong_.

Suicide attempts were frowned upon, and he would not be having willing death in his peaceful Namimori.

 _He reaches out, a deft, quick movement, prepared to snatch the twig-thin arm and_ deal _with the depressed herbivore, to stop him, to demand an explanation and set him right._

 _But something else happens, that Kyōya does not expect._

 _The herbivore suddenly snaps to attention with a ferocity in his eyes that speaks_ battle-hardened _, and ducks under the arm, twisting and grabbing it with one hand while the other, formed in a fist, is suddenly held at Kyōya's throat._

 _Kyōya_ _'s eyes widen at the same moment the herbivore's does—he had not_ seen _the other move, and in the blink of an eye was in a compromised if strange position—but he recovers quickly, and makes note of the amalgamation of emotions that flash through the herbivore's eyes momentarily._

 _Fear. Sorrow. Surprise. The last, he is unable to identify, before the other's eyes shutter and he regains himself._

 _The herbivore—no, he is not quite an_ herbivore _, but Kyōya doesn't know_ what _he is—releases the arm suddenly as though burnt, jumping back and turning away in a fluid movement belying his moniker._

Kyōya, at the time, had been too stunned to pursue the (tentative) herbivore, and he had his duty to attend to, first. So he had simply shaken himself out of his stupor and gone back to the uniform inspection, deciding he would simply deal with the issue at a later date.

But the subject had never strayed far from his mind since that morning. Because Sawada Tsunayoshi's _reaction_ had been something different, something dangerous. And it had been _automatic_ —an ingrained reflex, with the surety and practice of a veteran.

And yet… Even with that shocking show of proficiency, _that_ is not what intrigues Kyōya the most, oddly enough.

His intrigue lies in the emotions he had seen in the herbivore's eyes for that brief moment.

At first, the fear he had seen was written off—after all, most in Namimori knew his name and the threat he posed should anyone attempt to disrupt the peace—but then he had _realized._ Now, he _knows._

(The odd, strange glint of something else. Something that isn't quite fear, isn't as bland as wariness, but not as straightforward as anxiety. It is in the noticeably _hopeful_ glint that he realizes.)

Sawada Tsunayoshi's fear was not _of_ him, but _for_ him.

(He is Hibari Kyōya, demon prefect of Namimori. All who have seen him in action know of his strength, cower in the face of such power and will.)

And the at-first unidentified emotion was _concern_.

… But why?

* * *

 _Reborn would scold me for my current behavior_.

Tsuna snorts at his own thought, practically able to envision the dark figure of his ex-tutor standing beside him, a menacing glare in place.

" _You're being too emotional,"_ he would say, tone and gaze disapproving. _"Your behavior is not befitting of the Vongola Decimo."_

Tsuna pauses, shifting on the infirmary bed. "Not exactly the Decimo right now, Reborn," he mumbles, burying his nose into the crook of his arm as his eyelids droop. "You aren't even here."

 _Focus_ , he berates himself, mentally shaking off the sorrow that grips him. He had come to the infirmary for the necessary peace and quiet needed to think, to plan, to organize.

(Perhaps peace and quiet is the opposite of what he needs.)

 _Plan for the future_. It was the only way he could think of to calm down, to set his emotions and grief over his family aside. Occupy himself, make it so that he is simply _unable_ to stew in his less-than happy thoughts.

(Work, despite his aversion to paperwork, was always his go-to whenever his guardians were wreaking havoc that he simply didn't have the energy to be privy to.)

 _What am I to do with my memories, my knowledge?_ He thinks quietly, starting at the simple, easily answered questions. _Prepare. Ensure that the future_ I _came from does not come to pass_.

… _But_ , Tsuna thinks with a grimace, his fists clenching. _In order to do that, I need to recall what happened to us._

What led up to Vongola's Destruction.

Tsuna lets out a quiet, feral hiss that is not entirely from mental strain or otherwise. Yes, he remembers, he _remembers_ , the death and destruction, the _ones responsible_.

The " _Alfero"_ family. _Them_.

The strange, oddly _powerful_ famiglia that quite literally _came out of no-where_ —no documents, no history, no information, just the very apparent wish to see the demise of the Vongola.

There hadn't even been an established _base_ from what Vongola's best agents could find. The members just seemed to appear out of thin air at the most inopportune of times, prepared to strike at Vongola's weak points one by one.

Not to mention, no matter how much probing had been done, nothing could be found on their boss.

The most anyone had managed to gather regarding the hierarchy of the Alfero was the existence of six individuals—guardians, they had assumed—that seemed to spearhead every major operation.

Worse yet, in the _one_ conflict that Vongola had managed to gain prisoners, the men were fiercely loyal and said not a word. Though admittedly, "loyal" was stretching it, because there was clearly something _wrong_ —the captives they had managed to obtain either didn't know anything or would get a blank, eerie look before bursting into uncontrollable flames.

Due to the immense lack of substantial information gathered, suppositions and hypotheses had been made and largely relied upon despite the obvious folly in such a reliance. The theories ranged from the Alfero being unhappy with the changes the Vongola had made to the mafia world, to the absurd notion of Vongola having _accidentally killed their Sky_.

It was a completely ridiculous idea—because _how_ would they have _accidentally killed off a Sky that was the leader of the group without knowing_ —but, somehow, the most plausible as well.

Absolutely no one knew about or had even heard the Alfero name in passing. Tsuna knew that any rival families that still held a grudge or two against Vongola would not have been able to successfully pit the Alfero and Vongola against each other if it was a mere ploy, if simply because there was no information on the former. (And the few that still held grudges were pitifully small, weak, and lacking—it wasn't possible for any of them to manipulate the Alfero, whom Vongola had already recognized as a sizable threat by that time.)

There had been no ploy, no manipulation. The Alfero had a vendetta that they sought with the strength of the dying, and it had been clear that somehow, someway, the Vongola had done _something_ to incur the wrath of the unknown family. They just didn't know _what_.

Within the confusion, Tsuna had attempted countless times to extend a peaceful hand— _this is not the way, we do not need to fight, please_ cease _this ruthless slaughter, can we not peaceably come to an agreement?_ —but each time, his attempts ended in nothing but more bloodshed.

The Alfero refused to talk, and wanted the Vongola destroyed for reasons unknown. The Vongola had tried peaceful negotiations, but in the face of an enemy, they refused to go down without resistance.

So they had gone to war.

Tsuna winces, reaching up with a hand to rub at his temples. From there on, his memory is a blur, and his mind is not clear, or stable, enough to accurately sort through the hazy memories.

He'd just… Lost, lost so _much_. He'd lost his _entire family_ and he knows that he had been running on autopilot for his last few months in the future, his will and life slowly draining from him as more and more casualties were suffered on the Vongola's side.

Body after body. More and more people admitted to the hospitals, some needing to go to the _civilian_ hospitals because their private ones were under-staffed and full. More and more bodies sent to the morgue, more than three mass funerals within the span of _four months_ —

Tsuna smiles sardonically. Reborn would have, no doubt, chided him—in the most brutal of ways—for not remembering clearly. Mukuro and Kyōya, as well.

He himself is beleaguered to not allow himself to fall to self-deprecation, because of _all the things_ to turn a blind eye to…

He should have remained sharp and vigilant, even after he had lost most everything. He should have searched for information as well, not just turned to desperately trying to protect his family and blind vengeance. He should have…

… There was much he _should_ have done that he _didn't_. But much of the past few months are a blur, mere snippets of memories that he cannot place.

Perhaps it has to do with his travel through time, maybe it has to do with his grief and loss as he suspects. His family was, and always would be, his support in every facet—they were there for him in the aftermath of his first kill, they were there in every conflict that would have ended in his death had they not been there, they were there when he took on the mantle of Vongola Decimo and he had just been so happy, because _they were there_ —

Tsuna's form goes still as something _clicks_ in his mind.

White hair.

Pain lances through his mind at that, and he _can't recall anything past that_.

White hair… His intuition is _screaming_ at him and he _knows_ that little fact is important. But how so? Was this the instrument that led to Vongola's destruction? Had they been _tricked_? And who was it, Kawahira or Byakuran?

Both cause his intuition to jolt, and Tsuna frowns.

Yes… He had come to this conclusion before "dying" in the future, before that odd wash of peace and _content_ took hold and he relinquished the thought, thinking he was going to die. ( _Odd_.)

The Arcobaleno. The Pacifiers and the Tri-Ni-Sette, particularly, were involved. And the Tri-Ni-Sette tied in with both Kawahira and Byakuran.

But Tsuna has no way of finding out whether or not they truly were involved in the future. Because even if the Byakuran of this time already has his "miracle" from the Mare Rings and Kawahira… Well, is just himself and simply _knows_ , Tsuna can't go to them for answers. Because he doesn't know where they _are_.

For all that Tsuna had formed a strange bond with Byakuran (not quite friendship, but stronger than mere acquaintances and somehow still close) and held a mutual respect with Kawahira (the man even came by to check in on Tsuna, his Guardians, and the ex-Arcobaleno on occasion—a strange individual, he would linger on the sides and merely observe them as they went about their day-to-day lives, something Tsuna didn't mind), never had the subject of the _past_ really come up in their interactions.

Tsuna had never found out about Byakuran's childhood or where the man had lived prior to gathering his famiglia and meeting them, and everyone knew that Kawahira preferred to keep his whereabouts—past, present, future—unknown.

… _Regardless,_ he muses, turning onto his back. _I know that I'm far from prime condition to challenge anything, or anyone. I'll just have to focus on preparing for Reborn's arrival, and preparing myself and my family for the future._

He will need as much information, strength, and help as he is capable of obtaining, in identifying the enemy that threatens his family.

Despite how it grates on him, he would need to set aside that goal for the time being. _That_ is scheduled ten years in the future, after all—he should focus on _having_ a family to defend from the threat, to begin with.

Family.

Tsuna plays with the word, mulling over it within his mind.

 _My family_.

The words ring hollow, despite how he thinks, _knows_ the people he associates with it being the ones he cherishes. He winces at the feeling.

He is… Calm, now, but he doesn't like what he feels in exchange, either. Apathy. Emptiness. He can sense his flames, flickering under his skin with an eagerness for release… But his fierce will does not have that same _element_ that it once held.

Tsuna sighs, shifting to look up into the sky from where he lies on the bed.

Vast and far-reaching. The sun is not in view, there is not a cloud in sight, and the sky almost seems to be colored a morose, plaintive blue.

 _Lonely_.

Tsuna is and has never been one to wax poetic, but in his current setting, he feels he can understand the urge for the obtuse, fanciful metaphors.

He misses his Guardians. His _friends_.

In a quick, smooth movement, he kicks his legs over the bed and stands, walking towards the infirmary doors with a surety in his gait.

They are _his_ friends. His _family_.

He will get them back.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** **: Wowow thank you so much for all the support in the first two chapters! Pace will pick up soon-ish. Slow-progression is the only reason why I'm still updating fast tbh—as a reader I hate slow-updates+slow-progression and against popular opinion I actually _don't_ like to torture my own readers. (But seriously, 20 reviews in ~5 days! That's a lot for a new story that is still vague as hell.)**

 **Chapter features a phone conversation in Italian, wherein formatting is: "** _ **Italian Speaking,**_ **" 'Phone Speaking,' '** _ **Italian Speaking over Phone**_ **.' Word count is ~5.9k.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

* * *

The Sawada household is silent when Tsuna slips out of his bedroom before even the sun has risen, brushed and prepared for the day.

He is fitted comfortably in a grey hooded sweatshirt and an old-new pair of running pants (old, because he knows for a fact that he has had them for a while, new because he has never worn them since his younger self never had the compulsion to _exercise_ ).

 _I'll need some weights eventually_ , Tsuna muses quietly as he makes his way to the front door, hand rubbing absently at his wrist.

He slips on a pair of worn sneakers and makes for the door when his ears pick up the quiet sound of fabric rustling.

He stiffens, hand and arm going frigid mid-air, until he hears the voice and recognizes the familiar presence.

"Tsu… Tsu-kun?" He turns around to see a sleep-worn, bleary-eyed Nana—who is still in her sleepwear, she has clearly just woken up—staring at him in befuddlement. "What are you doing up so early…?"

Her question has a near-palpable confusion, and Tsuna can detect the faintest, tentative hint of… Hope?

(She had always smiled regardless of what he had chosen to do, be it become a Mafia leader or be the dead-weight son he once was. He recalls that she had taken his heirship rather well—she had been ecstatic, really—to his and his father's bemusement, considering her stony demeanor upon learning of Iemitsu's actual line of work.)

Tsuna does not recall much of his childhood before Reborn entered his life, but back then he had been oblivious to what his habits had clearly afflicted his mother with.

He smiles as brightly as he can at his mother, ignoring the slightly rueful twinge within him. He _had_ changed, after all, and in the end his mother had been happy and proud.

"I'm going for a run."

The way her hesitance vanishes without a trace is reward enough for Tsuna. A brief flash of surprise surfaces, and is quickly replaced with a brilliant beam that makes the pain recede.

"How wonderful! My Tsu-kun is growing up!" Nana exclaims, previous sleepiness gone. "Oh, but shouldn't you eat first? And those shoes, they're _awful_! You've been wearing them since you were eight!"

Tsuna's smile grows more genuine at her obvious fussing, and he says with fond exasperation, "I planned on eating when I returned. These shoes are fine, they'll make do for now."

A pout forms on Nana's face as she places her hands on her hips. "Maybe my Tsu-kun is growing up a little _too_ fast. Why, just a week ago I still had to pull you from your manga and games to do your homework!" She smiles at the amusement displayed clearly on Tsuna's visage, but her tone takes a serious note. "… Are you sure you don't need anything, Tsu-kun?"

Tsuna's first reaction is, of course, to assure her that what she does for him currently is plenty, but a thought occurs to him, and at the way that hesitant hopefulness returns…

However oblivious Nana may have seemed to him as a child, she certainly tried her best.

"… Training weights," Tsuna relents, sighing at the eagerness in his mother's eyes. "Preferably ones with adjustable weight. But nothing expensive, and only if it isn't any trouble," he hastily adds at the end. The eagerness had quickly taken on an unholy gleam, and Tsuna can only imagine the hell that would have been incurred if he allowed his mother to run on a vague description of "training weights." (Experience has taught him to never underestimate the quirks and craziness that his presence seems to bring forth in the people he associates himself with.)

"Okay!" Nana cheers happily, pushing Tsuna towards the door with a gentle hand. "You go out there and knock 'em dead! I'll be here with breakfast ready when you're done."

Tsuna laughs. "It's exercise, kaa-san, not a battle."

"You know what I mean!"

And thus Tsuna is ushered outside, where he picks up a light jog around the neighborhood. And as he jogs, he contemplates the more physical aspects of his current predicament. (His mind is doing nothing else, after all, and there are still certain things that he has yet to organize and solve within his mind.)

His limiters. The seal.

Tsuna hadn't known the full extent of what happened to him as a child until he had fully inherited the Vongola, and Timoteo had been reasonably contrite about the whole affair. Yes it had been for his own good, but since his childhood Shamal had found that the sealing of flames—Sky flames, especially—actually _did_ have negative effects on the individual.

(It was actually rather simple. If one considered Dying Will Flames the embodiment of one's final will, a testament to the ultimate strength of an individual to live, then it was naturally expected that the sealing of said flames would have any range of adverse effects. The effect of Tsuna's sealed flames resulted in heightened paranoia, and left him painfully lacking in balance and coordination. That, coupled with his Sky's harmonization factor, naturally attracted people to him… In the negative manner.

A weak, clumsy, somehow eye-catching boy was the perfect target for bolstering the confidence of schoolyard bullies.

It had been assumed that Timoteo's method of sealing had only sealed away the physical _manifestation_ of Tsuna's Dying Will, in which case It truly would have been benign. It was unfortunate that it didn't quite work that way.)

Regardless, it had taken a few years for Timoteo's seal to completely dissipate. However faulty it may have been in purpose, it was _strong_ , aided by the man's own powerful Sky flames.

Sawada Tsunayoshi as of right now _does not have the seal_.

A frown forms on his face as he considers the implications. For whatever reason, upon waking up in the past, his flames had burst through and completely _obliterated_ the seal Nono had placed on him as a child. It left him with severe flame burns as a result, but almost all of his limiters—natural or otherwise—are inexplicably _gone_.

He supposes that the reason lies in the vast contrast between his honed and immensely _stronger_ will from the future transferring over to the current.

Nono's flames are powerful, but he had long since surpassed his predecessors in the future-past—the seal that had been created with the purpose of restraining the flames of a meek, adolescent boy is pitifully meagre in the face of his own flames.

(Unfortunately, while this is not a _bad_ thing, this isn't necessarily something _good_ , either.)

He reaches half a mile in his jog before he is panting, and grimaces at how out of shape he is.

He most _definitely_ isn't looking forward to building himself back up to what he was in the future-past. It had taken _years_ to build of to the strength he had—his speed and agility in tune with his overpowering flames had made him a veritable threat to be had.

While he is lucky that his strength of will was something that apparently carried over his time displacement, he is also severely _un_ lucky in this case.

His current body simply is not prepared for such a force, especially without the aid of his X-gloves as a conduit. As it stands, he could easily go into Hyper Dying Will Mode, possibly even Ultimate, but he would severely harm himself as a result—possibly _kill_ himself, especially in the latter case—if he even attempted it.

Tsuna's primary issue at the moment is that his flames are… _Willing_ , too much so, to be brought to the surface, while his body is unable to handle the raw power. (He had been lucky, _very_ lucky that he had been lucid enough to quickly reign in his flames upon his arrival in the past.)

Unless he decides to go flame-less for his future battles, he will have to recondition his body to control and maintain flames. But before he can even begin with flame-work, he needs to actually build up physical strength and endurance.

Hence, the (not-going-so-well) morning jog.

Tsuna can almost sense a gun being withdrawn threateningly, accompanied with the all-to-familiar threat.

" _Pick up the pace, Dame-Tsuna. If you don't complete five miles in thirty minutes, I'll make you run_ ten _in_ forty-five _after school. A Mafia boss should be able to do both without breaking a sweat._ "

Tsuna lets out a breathless laugh as he forces his aching body to continue moving.

* * *

During class, Tsuna comes to the realization that he can count the number of times he has been bored throughout his life on one hand.

Two weeks have passed since he arrived in the past, and the initial shock of his situation has since receded into a quiet hum. He has decided that it would be best to put a slight, temporary distance between his once-guardians and himself, because he does not _trust_ himself to behave unattached and as though he doesn't know them when he _does_.

(He does not trust himself to not reveal something dark and bitter each time he is reminded of this fact. His face always was quite a bit more expressive, as a child.)

His reconditioning has been paying off, and while he is still far from accessing his flames without potentially ending up in the hospital, his speed and endurance have increased pleasantly. He had steadily upped the activity each day, easing himself back into the routine he could vaguely recall adopting at this age thanks to Reborn. Unlike before when he actually had Reborn, however, he could not simply jump back into the routines—however spartan and relentless the Arcobaleno had been, he still knew what he was doing and therefore knew Tsuna's limit. Tsuna was always pushed to his limit, yes, but never past—Reborn had a discerning eye to know exactly when he had done as much as he could.

Right now Tsuna has no one to spot him, and as a result it has been a somewhat slow, but sure process of school, the usual habits, and daily exercise with steadily increasing intensity.

(It has all been rather repetitive.)

Tsuna lifts his hand and stares at his unblemished palm, before releasing a heavy sigh. Yes, he can most certainly count the number of times he has been bored on one hand.

And, interestingly enough, none of the instances of boredom are prior to Reborn crashing into his life.

Rather, Tsuna finds himself admitting to boredom more _now_ than he had ever done in his previous life, because he was a rather simple and plain individual before the Sun Arcobaleno made his presence (and the many others that followed) known in the brunette's lacklustre life.

His life had been a monotonous day-to-day cycle, but it was something—the _only_ thing—Tsuna had truly known at the time. He had known no other way of life, and therefore his motions, however repetitive and boring, seemed perfectly natural if not somewhat empty.

They were expected. _Normal_.

But now, as he sits in his classroom—

(—Without the need to have a constant guard up in search of threats [whether in the form of a spiteful tutor or an actual assassin], without the need to remain on his toes in the event that one of his more volatile guardians [and wasn't it both unfortunate and amusing that this applied to practically _all_ of them] destroyed a wing or several of the Vongola mansion, without the need to assume the presence and natural air of the Vongola Decimo in the presence of subordinates, allies, and family alike—)

—Tsuna finds himself completely, and utterly, _bored_.

He isn't sure if that is _precisely_ the word for his unease, but he knows that he is restless. Because monotonous training, admittedly, doesn't help much in this regard without a sparring partner to test one's abilities and progress against. Because he cannot actively start moving his plans forward, not yet.

… No, "bored" probably is not the best label for it, he realizes—the word typically hints at a slothful type of lull, and Tsuna's current state is anything but. He has little to do, little to occupy his time, and as a result his overactive mind—awareness heightened, tension high, energy near-limitless, but nothing to _do_ about it—leaves him wound up tighter than a ten day clock.

Tsuna hums to himself as he entertains the idea of letting loose on some abandoned buildings or the Namimori forest. The idea is quickly retracted, almost immediately after its conception. It wouldn't do for him to aggravate Hibari, after all.

… _Or maybe it would?_

Tsuna lets out a stifled laugh as he shakes his head. The fact that he is beginning to actively think of aggravating Hibari Kyōya as a _good thing_ is a testament to his stress. He needs something to do, something that does not yet directly involve his family, but taking that into consideration… The options are limited.

There is _much_ he needs to do, logically, but most are directly involved with the Mafia and would result in waves that he is not properly equipped for. The Mafia world is, despite being a highly secret society with its omertà, possibly one of the worst (and most violent) gossip circles in the world after all.

 _Not until Reborn arrives_ , he stolidly reminds himself, absentmindedly tapping his pencil on the desk before him. _Not until I have a valid excuse to interfere._

Because without a valid excuse, his interference would raise questions. Questions that he is not willing to dodge and manipulate, not in the face of people he feels he should trust, people who don't _know_ him and are therefore mistrusting of him. The few he feels he could potentially entrust with his secret are either too young and uncaring to listen, or too suspicious and _involved_ to not immediately turn on him.

Ultimately, it all boils down to the fact that Tsuna has no support, at this point in time. It is a bitter fact and a hard pill to swallow, but one he can accept nonetheless.

Tsuna blinks, as a thought occurs to him. Yes, he has more or less barred himself from interfering in affairs that are directly related to the Mafia or his family. It is for the sake of giving him more mobility while he is technically an "unknown," and keeping any and all suspicion away. Sawada Tsunayoshi would not be able to handle the repercussions, at the moment, not when he already has his hands full with trying to tame his own will.

… But, that doesn't necessarily mean he can't make waves _at all_. There is always _anonymity_.

The loud chimes of the school bell signal the end of the day, and Tsuna _smiles_ —because there actually _is_ something he can do right now, to prepare for the future, beyond the daily grind that is his current life.

* * *

Sawada Nana sits at her kitchen table, a mug of coffee held between her chilled fingers.

And she is contemplative.

She is not the… _Sharpest_ individual out there, and she is somewhat slower than most. It is something she had always known, and eventually accepted—her husband even finds it endearing. It is, admittedly, a reason why she isn't quite so hard on Tsuna's abysmal grades as most parents would be. She herself had always had an issue understanding the subjects of compulsory education as a child, and it was with more sadness than _disappointment_ that she acknowledged that her Tsu-kun may have, perhaps, inherited her own lack of understanding of such subjects.

But that is in terms of academics. Because while Sawada Nana may be somewhat slow in the fields that typically represent an individual as _smart_ in society, she is not _blind_.

Especially regarding her Tsu-kun's behaviors.

Nana takes a sip of her sweetened coffee and leans back in her seat, lips pursing in thought. He is still, undoubtedly, _Tsuna_. His regard of her is much the same as it always has been, and she cannot quite place the source of her unease.

He is the same, but inexplicably _different_.

He is the same, but somehow… _More_?

It had, at first, come as a pleasant surprise—and it still is, pleasant, that is—that Tsuna had taken it upon himself to actively seek for betterment. Her Tsu-kun had always been a scrawny little thing as a child, and as he grew older it only became more pronounced as the baby fat melted away with no muscle to show for it. Nana has not seen any tests since that one abysmal Algebra quiz from four weeks ago, but somehow, she _knows_ that he is doing better in his Academics as well.

But this is not what disturbs her. _This_ is something positive, _this_ is not what set her in the most vile of unease.

The way Tsuna holds himself. His subdued mannerisms. The almost perpetual haze cast over his eyes, a sign of a wandering mind.

The fact that Tsuna hasn't, not even _once,_ tripped in the past two weeks.

Nana could attribute it to her Tsu-kun finally making an effort to rid himself of his "Dame" nickname at school.

(She used to call him that, as well. It was mostly in jest, of course—Tsuna never took overt offense to it, and it was always… Playful. But two weeks ago, it had become inexplicably _wrong_ to refer to him as such, and Nana stopped.)

She could attribute it to him finally growing up; puberty _does_ tend to bring about change, after all.

(Not _that_ kind of change— _that_ change where her child is constantly tense, with an ever-present guard up, even in her presence.)

But Nana is not blind, and therefore, does _not_ assume in any way shape or form that this is _natural_. And she has seen, in the few moments that Tsuna's guard dropped, the intense sadness and _regret_ that lingers within.

And she hates it _._

Nana has seen that _look_ before. She has seen it in her husband's eyes, every time he managed to come home and take a break for work. He always, always tries to (valiantly) hide it behind a cheery mask, but Nana _knows_.

She does not know what her husband does for a living. All she knows is that he is not the simple, traveling construction worker he paints himself to be. She has never questioned it, because she has never _minded_ being left in the dark regarding her husband's profession—he is a lovable, caring man, and though his presence would be more appreciated than money, Nana never sought to ask.

She has never minded, but seeing the haunted _look_ that usually accompanies her husband upon his arrival _on her_ _son_ …

It is not due to a change of character, it is not due to _puberty_ , it is not _inherited_ , and it is not _natural_. And whatever it is, _it is something affecting both of them_.

(For the first time, she feels as though she _needs to know_.)

Nana moves to the kitchen sink with her now-empty mug, feeling decades older than she actually is.

* * *

Tsuna heads to the Namimori shopping district after school.

As he stands in front of the public phone, he thinks, assimilates and organizes his knowledge in preparation. He, unfortunately, does not recall all of the details, but he remembers the composition, the theory, and the basic necessities to the overall end result.

Luckily, the man is a genius and was the one to come up with the solution to begin with. If he was able to do it in the future, Tsuna is certain that he can do it again, time not-withstanding.

Thus, Tsuna picks up the phone, takes a breath, and dials a number that comes to him with ease.

(It is a number that has been passed down the more recent generations of Vongola Bosses, _only_ the Vongola Bosses. He himself had been gifted the coded number by the man himself, should Tsuna have ever found the need for his assistance. The number has not changed since Vongola Sesto, to his knowledge, and it is a detail Tsuna is relieved over.)

Hopefully, this will work.

Tsuna stiffens at the sound of the call going through, quickly followed by a muffled "click." And then, a response.

' _Hello?_ ' The voice questions in Italian; tone raspy, exasperated, and Tsuna takes a moment to sigh in relief. He recognizes the voice, and the call did indeed go through.

He briefly ponders over the exasperation he can detect within the tone, and muses that Timoteo has perhaps called recently. _For the Vongola Rings?_

" _Hello_ ," Tsuna greets amiably in fluent Italian, and senses the person on the other end still. " _I would like to get straight to the point. I am in need of some assistance of the flame-crafting nature, and you are the only one capable of helping me on this endeavor due to your skill._ "

He pauses, allowing the man on the other side to process his words.

And then he smiles, more out of actual anticipation than necessity, and says with jovial confidence:

" _What say you, Talbot?_ "

* * *

Talbot is something of a "private craftsman" of the Vongola.

It was a private joke oft shared between himself, the generations of bosses and their confidantes that he was their "hidden treasure." It is true enough, has been through his years of living, but it is a title made in jest that he has grown to dislike.

He is perfectly fine being confined to Vongola land. As he has no care for traveling the world or seeing the sights at his advanced age, being confined in itself is not the issue—not to mention the land itself is rather large with a farm, a lab, and various other facilities he is free to use. Boredom is not something he suffers from, and he is given all of the controlled freedom he could possibly wish for while he still serves Vongola.

What he dislikes is what necessitates his status as a "secret," an unknown to the world. He cares little for fame, but the fact that it is a necessity that he remain hidden bites somewhat.

He understands, of course. Enemy famiglia would be quick and decisive in ending his life to prevent his continued work for the Vongola. The few that know of his existence also know well enough that his loyalty is solely to the Primo and his Vongola, and therefore understand that it would do them no good to attempt swaying him to their sides.

So when his phone rings—the only phone, the one that only Timoteo is capable of contacting as per Vongola tradition—he wonders if the younger man is calling on account of the rings again, with exasperation.

Timoteo has been stressed as of late, and therefore his worry is warranted. That does not mean that Talbot isn't somewhat… Bothered, by the man's obsessive tendencies that he tends to hide from the eyes of his famiglia.

(It is to be expected, Talbot supposes. He always did end up becoming something of a revered family member and personal confidante to each of the bosses, due to his history with Primo and his own prowess in his craft.)

At the fifth ring, Talbot picks up the retro phone (he is a craftsman, not some new-fangled techie—he rather _likes_ the more old-fashioned models, thank you) and prepares himself for another conversation with Timoteo wherein he tells the man to not worry.

However, after his simple greeting, he is not met by the voice he expects.

' _Hello_ ,' the voice on the other end greets—and immediately, Talbot freezes. ' _I would like to get straight to the point. I am in need of some assistance of the flame-crafting nature, and you are the only one capable of helping me on this endeavor due to your skill._ '

Talbot, in an automatic movement, sends word to the higher echelons of Vongola to trace the call.

' _What say you, Talbot?_ '

The voice is young, boyish, something that cannot be disguised or feigned to such perfection. The caller is _young,_ physically so at least—for there is a strange undertone of raw _power_ that echoes within his head from the voice, reminding the aged craftsman of times since passed.

It exudes strength and poise, not unlike—and perhaps, could even one day _match_ —that of Giotto's.

It is _not_ Timoteo's voice.

" _Who is this?_ " Talbot questions softly, buying time as he watches the computer screen before him. Old he may be, he knows enough to see that Vongola's best have already received his warning and are working to trace the outside call. (Silly the man may be at times, Timoteo is still the Nono of Vongola, a man to be feared.)

Talbot is already making plans and back-ups—he _does not_ _know_ this individual, and it is worrisome that this stranger has gotten ahold of the private line to begin with. And despite the youthful pitch of the boy's voice, Talbot is no fool, and he knows that the voice can be just as deceiving as one's appearance.

One need look, or listen, no further than most of the Arcobaleno.

' _I'm afraid I cannot tell you at this point in time,_ ' the voice replies, and sounds genuinely apologetic. ' _But I can tell you that I am not an enemy of Vongola. At the moment I am unaligned, but I am not, and will never be, a threat to the Vongola_.'

Oddly specific, and Talbot cannot detect a lie. Still, he does not have Giotto's hyper intuition, and while age and experience has made him more intuitive than most, there is something about the boy that sets him on edge.

" _I shall listen, but I make no promises_ ," Talbot relents, because he knows that unless the "boy" himself wishes to reveal the truth, he will not. The undercurrent of steel is hint enough.

He gets the strange feeling that the other is smiling.

' _That is all I ask for, and hopefully, my argument shall be convincing enough that you will join me on my endeavor._ ' A pause.

'… _I know a method to safely lift the Arcobaleno curse and rid its necessity altogether._ '

The blood freezes in Talbot's veins—a spark of hope follows—before he shakes himself from his brief shock and intones darkly, "… _Explain._ "

His immediate reaction, had he been more impulsive, would have been to call the other a liar. However, the "boy" has called him for a reason, and the very fact that his number is known is enough of a reason for Talbot to at least hear the other out.

The idea of someone actually having a solution—the solution to a problem that Talbot has been researching for _years_ , one that he knows that even the current lightning Arcobaleno, well-known for his achievements in science, has been researching as well—is baffling, and almost insulting.

But it is still a sign of hope, and Talbot is too aged and wizened to impulsively reject a possible resolution to the Tri-Ni-Sette's rules.

The other sighs. ' _I do hope you are sitting down, because this explanation may take a while._ ' There is a brief pause, and the sound of horns—cars, traffic; the "boy" is near a street—fills the phone. ' _Seven jars, one for each Flame of Sky. Flame receptive, flame containing glass—I do not know the exact process of creating this, unfortunately, but that is why I have come to you. What I do know is that the walls of the jars are based on Vongola Primo's Zero Point Breakthrough. However, instead of utilizing its flame-absorbing abilities, it helps sustain, freeze, and contain a flame within its confines._ '

The other pauses once again, and Talbot takes the moment to point out the flaws. " _You are proposing that we use contained flames as a replacement of the Arcobaleno? That would not work. Flames themselves cannot be maintained by a mere object, even one reinforced with flames itself—for the basis of flames is_ will _. Your plan is flawed, and while it could work in theory, the flames would last only a small amount of time—an hour at most, most likely far less—and the constant maintenance is much more of a burden than the pacifiers themselves. There is no human being with the capability of refilling a jar with the necessary amount of flames every hour, and they would exhaust themselves and die of a lack of flames._ "

'… _I know this,_ ' the other replies with a hesitance Talbot cannot place, ' _Which is why there is a need for a third factor in this, aside from the Flames of Sky and the jars themselves._ '

Talbot considers this. " _And what is this 'third factor'?_ "

'… _Flames of Night._ '

He immediately stiffens.

' _It would work_ ,' the voice quickly says, perhaps sensing Talbot's clear trepidation over the idea. Flames of Night means _Bermuda Von Veckenschtein_ , and no one in their right of mind wishes to deal with the Vindice unless absolutely necessary—especially in the case of asking a favour. ' _The Flames of Night, with their highly destructive, high-level energy, are capable of prolonging flame-life. Bermuda, the creator of the flames, has used them to sustain his deteriorating body. Though these flames are based on intense bitterness and hatred, they are elements to a dying will nonetheless—and are arguably two of the most powerful facets of it. That, along with the Flame of Night's ability to alter space itself will place the Flames of Sky in a never-ending loop, essentially freezing the flames powering the Tri-Ni-Sette in place. In fact, Bermuda's flames themselves 'surpass human existence'—they are the perfect conduit, and would keep the Flames of Sky steady and alive far past the average human lifespan, for an eternity, ridding the necessity of the Arcobaleno Pacifiers. And as a result, the necessity of the curse would also be nullified._ '

A pause. ' _... And I know that you understand the characteristics of flames far better than any other currently alive, along with the effects Bermuda's flames will have on them. So the question of whether or not the flames would be quickly drained by the pacifiers is a moot point._ '

As Talbot listens to the explanation, hears the other's reasoning and process, his mind reels at the possibilities and risks. Eventually, in a slightly strained voice, he asks, " _… How do you know this..?_ "

It is not his imagination that the other smiles sadly. ' _I'm afraid I cannot tell you that yet, either. It will come in due time. Now, what is your answer?_ '

Talbot sits back, and actually contemplates the proposition.

It… It's crazy.

The whole idea is absolute _madness_ , the thought that one individual of questionable standing can come up with the possible solution ( _highly probable_ solution, because despite the minor issues he can think of, Talbot cannot find an _obvious_ flaw in it no matter how much he looks) that has existed for _centuries_ is laughable.

The idea is crazy, the concept is _impossible_.

It _just might work_.

… But _._

" _I do not intend on involving myself with the Vindice_ ," he states lowly, once he has recovered himself. " _The idea is… Credible enough, but it is just that: an_ idea _. There are too many holes, however minor, too much room for error, especially in finding the appropriate flame users to donate their flames for this. I do not wish to place myself in the direct wrath of the Vindice should I not be able to deliver on a promise of lifting their curse, and this is not even discounting the absurdity of_ being _the one to discuss it with them to begin with._ "

The other only laughs. Talbot blinks, stares at his phone in bemusement. ' _I will handle it_ ,' the other says simply, with such ease that Talbot has to remind himself that they are discussing the Vindice, currently. ' _And if you truly wish it, I will not mention your name; you shall keep anonymity. They will not care in the face of my proposition—they will have their proposal, a promise of a solution to the curse, and an individual to punish should the plan fall through—myself._ '

Talbot remains silent, processing the potential implications of the statement. _Why would someone go to such lengths for something like this? Is he an Arcobaleno?_ He wonders. He does not recognize the voice, but to begin with Talbot is not personally acquainted with all of the current Arcobaleno, so it is plausible that he simply does not recognize the voice. And though he doubts it, he needs to be certain.

"… _Are you an Arcobaleno?_ " He asks simply, deciding being straightforward was best in this situation.

He hears the other let out a startled, strangled cough, and imperceptibly relaxes. It was slightly unnerving that, up until now, the other held such an air of control and power so unlike the youthful voice. There is also the inexplicable ease to simply _trust_ the boy, and Talbot has little doubt that his conversation partner is a Sky. Truly, similar to Giotto.

Talbot muses for a moment that he would very much like to meet the one on the other side of the phone conversation, one day.

' _W-wha, what makes you ask?_ '

" _Nothing, nothing at all,_ " Talbot replies simply, letting the conversation settle before continuing. " _… I accept the proposal. I will work on these 'specialized jars' to contain Flames of Sky, and I will have them sent to your location when you request it since you have my number—_ but, _my involvement will not be mentioned at all._ "

' _No names, no evidence_ ,' the other agrees. Promises. ' _I shall contact you once I am ready for the transaction, and I will be stationed in Namimori, where I am currently._ '

Talbot pauses at the freely given information. A young boy in Namimori, Japan. Clearly fluent in Italian, as he had not even suspected that the other had not lived somewhere in Europe. When the other speaks again, he hears a smile in the voice. ' _I'm sure that you or someone else already began work on tracing this call. I am using a public phone, so you won't be able to find me exactly—but I knew you would figure out my general location eventually. I figured I could expedite things._ ' Talbot makes a mental note to have someone deliver him a list of residents with Namimori. ' _Thank you for your cooperation, Talbot. Hopefully preparations will be complete soon. Ciao._ '

The line ends, and Talbot sets his phone to the side. He leans back, intertwines his fingers as he holds his cane.

And then he bursts out into raspy, mirthful cackles.

" _Namimori Japan, eh?_ " He muses aloud, a wrinkled, toothless grin in place. " _I wonder if that is a coincidence, Young Lion of the Vongola._ "

Like Giotto _,_ _indeed_.

* * *

 **A/N** **: W** **hat is the deal with Talbot? No matter how much scouring I did I just couldn't find a background on the guy, and I've read only one fic where he is so much as mentioned. (There isn't some secret creed where we aren't supposed to write Talbot and add our own interpretation of him is there?)**

 **Progress updates are on my tumblr under "updates." Either click the link on my page or go to [MyURL]/updates.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** **:** **Word count is ~7.3k.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

* * *

 _Tsuna is in his office attending to paperwork, when three successive raps at his door draws his attention._

" _Come in," he calls out automatically, a rehearsed reaction to years of practice in his position. He does not lift his head as the figure walks in, but he knows who it is—knew, before he even knocked—and gestures for the man to speak._

" _You called," Mochida Kensuke drawls, and Tsuna finally looks up from his paperwork with a smile._

" _I did," Tsuna agrees amiably as Kensuke takes a seat across the desk, kicking a leg over one knee and leaning back into the plush chair. "I just wanted to apologize for making you take on this mission. I understand that you are still recovering from your last assignment, and sending you out on something that is almost routine…"_

 _He trails off, thinking back to the circumstances. Kensuke is the second best swordsman in the main branch of Vongola, second only to Takeshi, and it is almost wasteful to send him out on the simple reconnaissance mission he has received. As he had stated, Kensuke is still recovering from his last assignment. The man had not received any grievous wounds, but it is standard procedure for there to be a cool-down time in-between missions to ensure that compounded injuries do not persist._

 _But Tsuna's intuition had, and still does tell him that sending anyone less would be unwise. And even if it is something as routine as reconnaissance, the party involved makes the assignment's exact difficulty an unknown variable. (He has learned long ago that he should not go against his intuition—and his family agrees.)_

 _He is drawn out of his musings as Kensuke snorts. "If you're so sorry, you can apologize by giving me that_ Centerbe _that I know you've got a stash of in your desk for when the scarred bastard comes by."_

 _Tsuna laughs, full of mirth. "Sorry, but Reborn actually threw most of the stash out, saying that it was too 'low-class' for a Mafia boss." Ignoring Kensuke's frown, he pulls open his drawer and withdraws a sake bottle instead, holding it with mock-pride like a trophy. "I managed to sneak in some sake, though."_

 _Kensuke stares at the bottle appreciatively for a moment before rolling his eyes in a put-upon manner. "S'fine, I guess. Weak, but it'll do." He holds a hand out expectantly. "Give it here."_

 _Tsuna tosses him the bottle and a shot glass—neither particularly care about the mismatched drink and ware, as it is only a formality. He hums as he waits, his own glass on the edge of his desk, before taking it once it has been_ graciously _been filled courtesy of Kensuke. He lifts the glass in a silent toast before downing it in one gulp, feeling the slight burn of alcohol clinging to the back of his throat._

" _Hayato is gonna be jealous," Kensuke muses aloud, refilling his own empty glass. He spreads his arms out in a dramatic gesture and shouts, "I'm kicking back alcohol with Jyūdaime! Oh, the absurdity! The_ honor _!"_

 _Tsuna stifles a laugh even as he motions an eye-roll. In most cases he would take offense to insults to any of his family, but Kensuke_ is _family and he knows both the ex-Kendo captain and his right hand man well enough to know that they are good friends, and that the barbs exchanged are in jest. Mostly._

" _You're one of the few I can actually drink with and_ not _have my intuition buzzing ominously in the back of my head all the while. I don't have anything against my guardians or the others, it's just, well…" Tsuna smiles in fondness, but there is a tight quality to it. "… They're destructive enough as it is. The idea of being the one to clean up after their_ drunken _trails of destruction, when their sober ones are bad enough already doesn't exactly… Appeal, you know."_

"You're _the one who chose your crazy family members," Kensuke ripostes without sympathy. "You should have known how things would end up, what with the hell that you and your groupies would cause in Namimori."_

 _Tsuna groans. "I_ did _know, thank you. And I didn't exactly choose so much as go along with what Reborn demanded, since I sort of_ had _to unless I wanted the beating of a lifetime disguised as training every other day."_

 _Kensuke only snorts in reply as he refills Tsuna's glass, and they settle in a comfortable silence for a brief moment._

"… _I never would have thought that 'Dame-Tsuna' would end up being the leader of a Mafia family," Kensuke eventually begins, staring down at his sake with a smirk. "Never would have thought it. And then you go and become the most powerful man in the world, to boot."_

 _Tsuna instantly demurs, brow furrowed. "I'm hardly the most powerful man in the world. Reborn, for one, is still far beyond my reach."_

 _Kensuke only waves his free hand dismissively. "Semantics." A pause. "… But that, you being the most powerful in the world, isn't even the most shocking thing to me, I think."_

"I _think you're drunk," Tsuna says, only half-joking._

" _Shut up and let me be sentimental," Kensuke warns with a glare, before settling back in his seat. "… I think… I respect you." Tsuna withholds the remark sitting on the tip of his tongue as he observes Kensuke, who is mindlessly swirling the alcohol in his hand. "It's almost… Shocking, how much I respect you, how awe-inspiring you are. I mean, you're still kind 'Dame', no offense, but… I personally stopped thinking of you as that."_

 _Tsuna sits back in his seat, remaining quiet. He doesn't quite know what brought this on, but he is accustomed to listening silently to his family members in a private setting—in their line of work, it was often needed._

 _(Especially for their first kills.)_

" _Logically, I_ know _you're different from most. Not just because you're a_ Sky _or whatever with your flame harmonization, because the few other Skies like Dino and Yuni aren't…" Kensuke gestures with his hand, a frown on his face as he grasps at words that will not come. "… The same."_

 _He falls silent, having apparently fulfilled his innate quota of sentimentality for now (possibly the year) and Tsuna smiles._

 _He himself does not need confirmation of loyalty, of trust, of friendship, because he_ knows _. Tsuna knows his family, and he knows that he and Kensuke hold a mutual respect, a mutual companionship and friendship separate from the established respect associated with a boss and a subordinate._

 _Ten years is a long time, plenty of time to form a long-lasting bond with another, however negative and antagonistic it may have been in the beginning. And Kensuke had long since become someone that Tsuna wouldn't hesitate to place his trust in if the situation called for it._

 _Kensuke eventually leaves Tsuna to his paperwork with a respectful nod, and Tsuna smiles in farewell while wishing him a heartfelt "good luck, come home safely."_

 _His smile's authenticity only wavers as the swordsman's back disappears behind the door. His intuition still tells him that this is necessary, and that Kensuke is the right man for the assignment. He still doesn't know why there is a sick, dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach._

 _A week later, he gets his answer when only Kensuke's sword makes it back home._

* * *

Tsuna deliberates several meters away from the school gates as he watches the scene before him with sharp eyes.

"Tch, go away, wench!" Mochida Kensuke growls at an irate and slightly fearful Hana, who has placed herself defensively between the irritable Kendo captain and her best friend. Kyoko watches the exchange with wide, worried eyes. "This is between Kyoko and I!"

Hana straightens her back and her eyes flash in contained anger. "Kyoko happens to be my best friend, _monkey_ , and she doesn't like your constant advances. Leave her alone."

"Kyoko hasn't said anything, and you're just in the way!" Kensuke snarls, and his hand darts out—Hana and Kyoko flinch back simultaneously, guarded—but no one figures out who Mochida's target was, because Tsuna stands between the girls and Kensuke, a solid grip on the offending arm.

Tsuna's eyes flicker between the enraged visage of the boy before him and the two wide-eyed looks of the girls behind him. He had not meant to interfere, but he would never turn a blind eye for his own selfish reasons.

"Mochida Kensuke," he states quietly, but clearly, as his eyes drift back over to Kensuke.

It smarts, seeing the three of them alive and well, knowing that they had died in his future. It hurts even more seeing them young, innocent, youthfully compulsive, and without the shadows that were cast over them when they grew older. Hana and Kyoko had become hardened, strong, confident, but at the cost of their innocent happiness.

"Dame-Tsuna," Kensuke ( _Mochida_ , Tsuna silently corrects within his mind) sneers, ripping his arm away in a harsh movement. He could have hurt himself had Tsuna not relinquished his grip.

As Tsuna stares back at the fool-hardy _boy_ , he _sees_ —he sees a man that had become another powerful individual within the Vongola, a man that had vowed loyalty to Tsuna, a man that occasionally shared a drink and participated in idle chatter with him. A man that he frequently sparred with and, while not as powerful as his guardians, was a challenge all the same.

A man that he respected, and that respected him back.

But then the vision fades, and all Tsuna sees is a young, prideful middle-schooler that doesn't know the horrors of the mafia world. That doesn't know loss. That doesn't know the shadows that lurked in the eyes of his older self.

Painfully naive. Completely innocent.

"I challenge you," Tsuna speaks before he can stop himself, as he forces his darker thoughts from his mind. "The stakes will be simple. If I win, you do as Sasagawa-san wishes. If you win, well…" He glances to Kyoko and Hana again, and remembers their bids for equality within the Vongola, despite them being women. No, not despite, but _because_ they were women—they had wanted to prove that they were just as capable as the men they worked alongside. (They had.) "… Well, I believe they should decide the penalty."

Mochida gawps at Tsuna for a moment before glaring, eyes narrows in contempt. "Are you _challenging me_?"

Tsuna turns back to Mochida and gives a smile that contains too much teeth to be genuine. "That' _s_ what I said, Mochida-san."

Mochida bristles and throws a punch in blind anger, but it is slow and terribly _sloppy_ and it is simply a matter of stepping to the side, shifting the weight of the blow with a gentle push and allowing the teen's inertia from his own move and lack of balance to throw him off. Mochida tumbles to the ground in a heap, whipping around to stare up at Tsuna with wide-eyes.

"The battle isn't now, but we can move over to the dojo so that K—so _Hibari-san_ doesn't bite us to death for disturbing the peace," Tsuna suggests, before goading, "a Kendo match. Surely it'd be easy enough for you to defeat me?"

Mochida jumps up from where he had been sitting in the dirt, a derogatory comment on the tip of his tongue, but Hana intervenes, stepping between the two. Panic and nervousness line the corners of her eyes, but she is grimly determined for the sake of her friend.

"Wait, neither of us agreed to this!" She near-growls, glaring at Mochida but saving an unsure, hesitant look to be shot Tsuna's way. "The monkey is the one that started this, we were just minding our own business. It isn't _fair_ that—"

"Kurokawa-san." Tsuna speaks quietly, yet firmly, and three pairs of eyes turn to him. He smiles warmly at the spritely girl. "I know it's not, which is why the two of you get to decide the stakes should I lose."

Hana grimaces, looking at the irate Mochida. "Yeah, so you say. But how do we know the monkey won't—"

"Please, believe in me."

Tsuna's eyes flash orange, and he is quick to withdraw his eager flames. The sudden shift in his demeanor seems to shock the three present, but he pays no mind to it, awaiting Hana's decision.

But is isn't Hana who speaks up.

"… Alright," Tsuna hears Kyoko say, and they all turn to her. Kyoko is smiling, a hesitant grin that morphs into a dazzling beam displayed on her face. "I'll believe in you, Sawada-kun."

"Wait," Mochida growls as he narrows his eyes at Tsuna. "Why does the wench get to decide? Kyoko is _mine_ —"

"Sasagawa-san is not a possession to be won, Mochida-san," Tsuna intones lowly, hand snaking out to snag the Kendo captains arm before dragging him off.

Mochida, shocked from the sudden movement, starts struggling as he digs his heels into the ground. "I-I know that! I'm not an _idiot_!" He bellows, attempting to free himself as he is manhandled across the grounds and away from the two bemused girls. "But Kyoko is going to be my girlfri—"

" _Stop._ "

Tsuna's word cuts through Mochida's own like a blade through butter, and the Kendo captain freezes at the chilling voice.

Tsuna turns to him with a grim smile. "Please, Mochida-san. Stop. Sasagawa-san is too kind to flatly reject you, but I _know_ that you can see the discomfort that your actions cause her. You are not that dense. She is a human being just like us, and has all of the freedoms that accompany it." He turns away as he drops Mochida's arm. They are a sufficient distance from the two girls, and he doubts Mochida will go back to make a bigger fool of himself. "Don't break down the image of the man I respect any further."

He then pinches the bridge of his nose as he walks ahead, not wanting to speak more on the subject. He ignores the gaze boring into the back of his skull as he widens the distance between him and Mochida.

Seeing his family again was expected to be draining. It still is. Logically, he knows—yes, this is a challenge, and yes, he is capable ( _has to be_ ) of handling it. But this… This is a bit much.

It would have been difficult seeing the people he was most familiar with acting as he last recalled them, yes. Seeing the people that one _knew_ had just died tended to do that.

But seeing them act so differently, so young and _innocent,_ is more difficult than he had first anticipated. Because it is only further proof that the life he once had was gone forever.

 _That's a good thing_ , he reminds himself with insistence. And it's the truth. A different beginning doesn't always mean a different ending, but it is a _start_. It is something he can work with.

(He ignores the quiet steps that hasten in pace behind him, ignores the way they match his pace a handful of meters back.)

The rest of the walk to the dojo is made in silence.

* * *

As Hana and Kyoko watch the two walk off, Hana observes Sawada with a narrowed gaze.

… _How did this happen?_ She wonders, lips pursed in thought. It isn't a _bad_ thing per se, but she feels somewhat shocked and loose-footed. Uncertain. One moment she is prepared to throw down with the rude Kendo monkey (how _dare_ he stake a claim on her best friend like she's an object?) and the next, Sawada _Dame_ -Tsuna steps in.

It all seems suspiciously like one of those clichéd cartoon scenes. Hana is too skeptical to believe it'll end like one, though.

"… I'm not too sure about this, Kyoko," she murmurs eventually, turning to Kyoko. "I don't like the situation."

Kyoko, who was looking in the direction the two boys disappeared (oh no was that _hope_ in her expression?) turns to Hana with wide-eyes. Then, she smiles. "I believe in Sawada-kun, Hana-chan."

Hana grimaces in frustration. "… Kyoko, no offense, but that's Sawada _Dame-Tsuna_ we're talking about! The kid that can't receive a pass for his life? The kid that never gets above a 30 point average?" She is a step away from shaking her clearly starry-eyed friend—and _damn it_ , now is the worst time for sibling similarities to come into play! "And against _Mochida_ in Kendo? I don't care how much of a monkey Mochida is, Tsuna's going to lose!"

Kyoko's smile falters, but it becomes a sad, _understanding_ look as she gazes at Hana. "Hana-chan…"

Hana stares at the kicked-puppy look her best friend graces her with for all of two seconds before she turns away with a grumble, crossing her arms. And she thinks back to the conversation.

… Admittedly, Sawada _had_ shown balls that were uncharacteristic of his usual mousy personality. But that doesn't mean things are in his favor. One moment of bravery doesn't amount to much when he has a track record of being the town's clumsiest.

He's Dame-Tsuna. And Dame-Tsuna sucks at sports, has terrible grades, and is the school's whipping boy. Hana does not _condone_ the behavior of the school's monkeys, but she has always figured that it was Sawada's fault to begin with for being so… Wimpy.

Hana stops her train of thought for a second. _… But he_ has _given us an out either way_ , she ponders, chewing the inside of her cheek.

If Sawada wins, Mochida will have to do whatever Kyoko says—and Hana will make _damned certain_ that her best friend tells him to kindly _fuck off_. On the other hand, if Sawada loses, the stakes are still under their control. Technically an offer in the the victor's (Mochida's) favor should be presented, but Hana couldn't care less about honor over a small, stupid, egocentric match. Not when it is her friend on the line.

Kyoko wants Mochida to stop his pointless advances, and Hana is none too fond of the monkey's persistence. That was that.

… And, if Hana is to be perfectly honest, she _had_ seen the weird change, almost like a switch, in Sawada. There is an underlining, inexplicable _something_ (too soon to call it strength, she doesn't particularly care but it was definitely _something_ ) within the boy that had been the class wimp just few weeks ago.

It is oppressive, foreboding, almost _frightening_. And Hana isn't sure what to make of the fact that it came from _Dame-Tsuna_ of all people. Hana has always prided herself in being able to read people, but in this case…

"Hana-chan?"

Hana blinks out of her thoughts and stares at Kyoko, whose head is tilted slightly to the side in inquiry. Hana lets out an exasperated sigh as she combs a hand through her hair.

"I guess…" Hana begins, hoping she doesn't regret this later. "… I guess I'll believe in him too. For now."

Kyoko lights up like a _damn beacon_ and grabs Hana's hand, already dragging the reluctant girl to the dojo. "Well, let's go watch, Hana-chan!"

* * *

Somewhere between Tsuna's changing into more flexible clothes and now, the Kendo team has somehow managed to corral a rather large crowd of twenty-or-so people. This is not including Hana and Kyoko, who he can see sitting happily in the front—well, the former not so much, if the grimace of almost-pain is any indication.

Tsuna actually hesitates at the doorway at the sight, before continuing as though his pace never faltered. He silently wonders how such a thing was made possible—he had taken eight minutes at the most, and this match is entirely last minute in decision.

Admittedly, the source of his surprise isn't so much that there is a large crowd suddenly _there_ so much as the fact that _Reborn_ wasn't there to make it happen. To think, Tsuna had once thought that all the unexplainable, crazy happenings in his life had been caused solely by Reborn. He hadn't known, back then, that _everyone_ has their own brand of craziness hidden away, and between he and his tutor they just happened to make themselves known.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Tsuna steps into the cleared area designated for the match.

Mochida eyes him quietly, a stark contrast to the calls of the students watching and the first time Tsuna was put in this position. (His gaze is lacking in the derision from earlier, which is an improvement.)

Mochida glances to the side and gestures. "You aren't going to use the armor?"

Tsuna looks in the same direction, and watches as a single Kendo member hoists the armor up. He would be lying if he were to say that he isn't pleased that, this time around, Mochida forewent the method of cheating.

"No thanks," Tsuna replies as he grabs a shinai. It is an awkward weight in his hands.

This time, Mochida does glare and his shoulders stiffen. "… Are you underestimating me?"

"No. Have you forgotten the point of this match?" He questions simply, glancing to the shinai. It is not anything he _isn't_ familiar with, but compared to the Kensuke and Takeshi of his time, a battle restricted to swords would have him defeated within seconds.

Mochida's ire disappears from his eyes, instead going blank and focused. He turns to the referee and nods, before stepping back and settling in a stance.

"First person to three points is the victor!" The referee shouts, and the crowd's cheers grow louder.

It is all drowned out as Tsuna observes Mochida. The boy seems hesitant—even when his team cheers for him to "take Dame-Tsuna down," he only waves half-heartedly, gaze darting to Tsuna constantly. He is unsure, and confused.

Tsuna takes a moment to breathe, easing into the appropriate mental state. Stuck in a thirteen-year-old body he may be, he is still trained enough to handle his current situation. He is not battling Xanxus for the rings. He is not fighting Byakuran to the death. He is not out for vengeance-driven blood. He is not _risking_ anyone's life, and he is up against a middle schooler. He has his reflexes (slow still, but workable), his Hyper Intuition, and his mind.

His hands tighten around the shinai's handle. The match begins with a drowned-out call from the referee.

And without warning, Tsuna darts out with unrestrained speed, striking Mochida's side with the shinai and sending the taller boy sprawling to the floor a few meters away. The room quiets to a hush.

Tsuna blinks once, twice at the sting in his arms, and baffles slightly at the force that sent Mochida flying. And then he stands, rolls his shoulders once, and turns an expectant look to the dumbfounded referee.

… Who seems all too eager to comply, as his arm holding the red flag shoots up almost immediately upon their gazes locking. "P-POINT!"

Tsuna can feel eyes on him, not quite awe, not fear, and still in the stage of disbelief and shock. Mochida is staring up at him, still sprawled on the ground, and clearly shell-shocked. The silence stretches, and becomes a tad bit uncomfortable to him, reminding him of a feeling of nervousness that he has not felt since his beginning days as Vongola's leader. His actions aren't that shocking, are they? (Was he really that "Dame" before?)

"Um," Tsuna begins, frowning at a frozen Kensuke. "Mochida-san? Can we continue?"

It seems to work, and Mochida comes to life, blinking. His jaw works up and down a couple times, but no audible sound comes out. He coughs and tries again. "…Y-you… How—"

But then the north-facing doors slam open, and silence shoots through the room again at the terrifying vision displayed.

Hibari Kyōya stands at the entrance, tonfas withdrawn and face severe as steel-grey eyes narrow at the sight before him. The students freeze in the presence of the prefect, and for all that Tsuna simply sees an irate Kyōya, the fear in their eyes is like that of a mouse facing a particularly vengeful god. (And considering the damage Hibari can do to the average student, that view actually isn't very far off.)

Both Mochida and Tsuna flinch when Hibari's narrowed gaze lands on them, though Tsuna's reaction is not as overt.

"Unsanctioned matches are not allowed," Hibari intones as his arms raise in preparation to strike. "I will bite you to death."

Pandemonium erupts at the declaration. The observers screech and go into a frenzy, rushing for the opposite door as they tumble over one another, doing everything in their power to _get away from Hibari Kyōya_.

Hibari pays them no mind, and instead darts towards Tsuna and Mochida with a single-minded determination—the latter of which releases a rather girlish shriek.

The other students are still clamoring for the opposite door. Mochida is still flat on the ground, mouth agape as he watches impending death approach. Hibari, said "impending death" heads towards them, a severe look on his face that looks less intimidating to Tsuna and more endearing, considering the potent glares the boy's future counterpart was capable of.

Without thinking, Tsuna grabs Mochida's arm and runs towards the dojo's entrance, just barely ducking under and pulling Mochida away from the deadly weapons.

And he is _laughing_.

This is the first time in a long, _long_ while where he is running from a fight and not for his life, he distantly notes (others would disagree, but he knows Hibari isn't a lethal threat to him) and without the heavy weight of responsibility. It is exhilarating, he realizes—he does not particularly relish _battle_ , but he has been in too many to not appreciate the free-hearted _release_ that comes from spars and allowing one to test one's ability, even if it is just in dodging.

Tsuna and Mochida dodge a few more potentially bone-shattering blows (though it is more Tsuna tugging the latter along and doing the dodging for the both of them) before they finally clear the room and run across the school grounds. And Tsuna is still laughing.

To think, not even two weeks ago, the sight of the prefect had contributed to a near soul-crushing depression. Now? Now, he feels _alive_ —well and truly _alive_.

Was it really so simple? Was it really just a matter of letting go, of deciding that yes, he _would_ get his family back?

(Days without the mafia, without the responsibility, without the fear and darkness. Days where it was just _him_ , not Vongola Decimo and his Guardians but _Sawada Tsunayoshi_ and his _friends_ —not guardians, not subordinates—his _friends_ , his _family_.

He had… Forgotten. Forgotten what this was like.)

Tsuna's intuition flares and he jumps to the side in an abrupt movement, pulling Mochida with him, just as a tonfa hurtles past them with startling speed.

" _Herbivores_ ," Tsuna hears Hibari growl darkly, but he ignores him, instead glancing to Mochida with a smile. The Kendo captain is deathly pale with a look of horror and palpable confusion written on his face.

"Pick up the pace, Mochida-san!" Tsuna cheers happily, and they are off in another sprint towards the school buildings.

Tsuna laughs at Hibari's irritated growl of, "running in the halls _is forbidden_."

* * *

 _Finally_.

Kensuke can't help the exhausted sigh of relief that leaves him as he and Sawada round the corner into a quiet courtyard, noticeably without their volatile, out-for-blood, would-be killer in tow. Kensuke drops to the ground and gasps for breath—Hibari is _fast_ , and he is still surprised that he and Sawada managed to not only outrun but _evade the prefect_ —as he looks up at Sawada with a narrowed, speculative gaze.

He isn't panting, Kensuke realizes belatedly. Sure, Sawada's breaths are coming out slightly uneven, but for all the "I'm totally fine" he is exuding, he does _not_ look like he just had a run-in with Namimori's Demon Prefect.

He is… _Different_.

Kensuke almost snorts at his observation. He has never paid much attention to "Dame-Tsuna" aside from the usual demeaning remarks (everyone did it, he wasn't doing anything different) but he at least knows that _something_ has changed, something painfully obvious. And that isn't even considering the fact that he had been _laughing_ —yes, Kensuke was frightened out of his wits but he was still coherent enough to notice that Sawada was actually _enjoying_ himself minutes before—in the face of proverbial death via steel tonfas. (Not really "proverbial," he realizes with an ill-concealed shiver.)

Dame-Tsuna is weak, stupid, and with a backbone made of gelatin. But this…

"… You… You're different," Kensuke murmurs between breaths, wishing dearly for a water bottle. Sawada glances at him, and Kensuke notices that _he isn't tired at all anymore_. He doesn't even have a sheen of sweat, his breathing is normal, and his clothes inexplicably orderly. _As if we hadn't just run across the fucking-school with Hibari-fucking-Kyōya in pursuit_ , Kensuke thinks quietly, with more shock than aggravation.

"I could say the same about you."

Kensuke's brow furrows. Had he not been listening closely, he would not have heard the mumble. "Hah?"

"Nothing," Sawada says woodenly, shaking his head. "Anyway." He turns to look at Kensuke, who is only just working to hoist himself up before promptly freezing.

Sawada's gaze is _piercing_ , and Kensuke thinks he sees the slightest flicker of orange in the younger teen's eyes before it recedes, a possible trick of the light. He gets the slightest sense of not-quite vertigo at the abrupt change in demeanor.

"Has your perception changed at all, Mochida-san?"

Kensuke takes a moment to figure out what he means, and when he realizes, he cannot withhold the slight grimace that forms on his face.

"I know the match is inconclusive," Sawada continues, holding Kensuke's gaze with stolid strength, "but do you think you could treat Sasagawa-san with more respect? No one likes being hassled or forced unwillingly into things by others, no matter the intention."

Kensuke looks away.

He hates how it feels like he is being talked down to. He hates the inexplicable _guilt_ he feels—yes, he knows that he was less than gentlemanly towards Kyoko, he _knows_ he could have handled it better—and the worst part of it all is that it is _Sawada_ making him feel this way. Sawada "Dame-Tsuna," who, just a month ago, was a spineless wimp and the prime target for bullies.

He hates how he's _right_ , and how much like a _child_ the whole situation makes him feel.

"… Tch," Kensuke clicks his tongue as he forces himself to meet Sawada's gaze. "Whatever."

It is not an apology or a promise, but he must look contrite enough, because the severe look disappears and Sawada beams.

"Hey!"

Kensuke's back straightens and he dons an automatic glare at the voice. Sawada turns to the newcomers with his smile still in place.

"Kurokawa-san, Sasagawa-san," Kensuke hears him say, sounding pleased if a bit bemused. "What are you two doing here?"

"We were looking for you, actually," Kurokawa says. "We wanted to make sure that the _monkey_ pulls through on his end of the deal."

Kensuke immediately turns around to level a scathing glare at the girl. "The match isn't finished!" He takes a step forward, inwardly relishing the flinch he received for the action. "I still haven't lost, you blind _bit_ —"

He stops at the harsh tug on his sleeve, and turns to glare at Sawada. But he isn't staring back, and Kensuke follows his line of sight to Kyoko— _who flinches when he turns to her_.

Inwardly, he flinches too. Recoils. His face falls without his knowing, and Sawada observes him silently with a sharp gaze, but he is too busy looking down at his palms to notice.

This… This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He never meant to _scare_ her. It is a well-known fact that Sasagawa Kyoko is the innocent, flowery idol of their school, with every individual in the male population—heck, some girls too—hoping for a chance with her. He just wanted to be _noticed_ by her, wanted to stand out amongst the crowd of her admirers.

... But it wasn't even so innocent as that, was it? Because it was less him wanting to have _her_ favor and more him wanting to be noticed by everyone else by the association.

That's what Sawada meant when he said that she wasn't some _object_ , Kensuke realizes. Sasagawa Kyoko isn't some trophy to be obtained and give status to him, she's a _person_.

Kensuke abruptly bows at the waist, distantly noting the flinches he received for the action (this time, he does not feel satisfaction at them, only guilt and distant disgust) and shouts at the top of his lungs. "SASAGAWA KYOKO! I APOLOGIZE FOR MY BEHAVIOR UP TO TODAY! IT WAS VERY RUDE OF ME!" His back is stiff and the action is awkward, but he maintains it anyway.

(So what if he's taking a note from her brother's book? If there's one thing indefinitely true about Sasagawa Ryohei, it's that he is as earnest as he is loud. And it seems appropriate.)

He does not look up. He does not dare to do so, both because of his worry of seeing ever-present fear still written in her eyes, and because of the horrid blush spreading across his face. This is the most humiliated he has ever felt, but he knows that it is justified.

He does turn to Sawada, however, when the boy pulls him up by the shoulder. "I think they understand," the shorter boy murmurs, but there is a smile on his face. Kensuke gulps, and chances a look at the two girls—Hana simply looks bored if slightly amused, and Kyoko is beaming at him. (The blush returns, but it not entirely of shame this time.)

"Tch. I guess we accept your apology, monkey," Hana comments imperiously with a flip of her hair, and Kensuke bites back the automatic insult at the tip of his tongue. He turns a hopeful glance to Kyoko, who nods.

She then turns to Sawada with a thankful smile. "Thank you for helping us clear up the misunderstanding, Sawada-kun."

He only smiles back, looking oddly pained. "It was nothing. Mochida-san was well-meaning, he just didn't really go about it properly." As Kensuke's blush increases at his words, Sawada pauses. "… And please, call me Tsuna. I don't particularly like being referred to by my last name."

Kyoko claps her hands together as her grin brightens. "Tsuna-kun, then! Just call me Kyoko in that case."

Hana huffs. "Hana. Kurokawa has too many syllables."

Kensuke observes the proceedings—Sawada and Kyoko are all bright smiles, and Hana has her usual put-upon air (but there is that hint of fond exasperation that even Kensuke can pick up on).

"Kensuke," he interjects eventually, and forces down the blush that threatens to rise anew as three pairs of eyes turn to him. "Just call me Kensuke."

He ignores how Kyoko and even Hana are staring at him as though he has grown a second head. Sawada only nods. "Alright, Kensuke-san. I'm Tsuna. It's nice to meet you."

Kensuke blinks momentarily before letting out a noncommittal grunt, suddenly finding the opposing wall very interesting. "I guess… You're not half bad."

* * *

It is immensely _weird_ seeing them get along.

Hana stares at her best friend— _smiling_ —at Tsuna— _also_ smiling—and Mochida Kensuke—blushing, he's _blushing_ , the damn monkey is blushing like a _shy introvert school girl_ when he'd been acting like a bird-brained jock for a whole _year_ (what the literal _fuck_ ).

It's all way too surreal a setting for Hana to process properly, even more so when she realizes that _she_ is part of it.

So she spends all of two seconds feeling thankful when a flash of black makes itself known in her peripherals to distract her, until they all turn and freeze because _well okay there's Hibari Kyōya_.

"Go," Tsuna says, and Hana is half-convinced he's crazy because sure, he landed that one really stellar hit on Mochida but he's a _blade of grass_ in Hibari's weird food-chain metaphors.

Hibari's eyes narrow.

"Go," Tsuna repeats, taking a few steps forward to place himself in between them and the prefect. "I'll be fine."

 _You're a suicidal idiot_ , Hana thinks, but she doesn't say it aloud—because if she is to be perfectly honest, he actually does stand the greatest chance against Namimori's Demon Prefect. Which is… Kind of sad for the present company, actually.

Before anyone can fully shake themselves out of their shock and tell him how crazy he is, however, Hibari deigns to speak.

"Mochida Kensuke and Sawada Tsunayoshi, neither of you can escape punishment."

Hana, Kyoko, and Mochida simultaneously _shriek_ when Hibari darts towards them, metal tonfas glinting ominously. He swings with his right towards Tsuna, clearly expecting to mow over the short boy with a single blow before moving on to his other prey.

But in a movement Hana is just barely able to catch, Tsuna pivots, kicks Hibari's legs out from under him, swings him over his head in the same motion—and _slams him into the ground_.

Hibari's eyes widen, Kyoko gasps, Mochida gapes, and Hana is fairly certain she's doing all three. And before anyone can recover themselves, Tsuna claps his hands of dust and runs off with a laugh, spinning around once to shout back at the three of them. "Just go!" And then he pivots and resumes his sprint.

Hibari jumps up onto his feet and levels a brief glare in Mochida's direction that holds the promise of death. " _I will deal with you later_."

And then he darts off after Tsuna, who gives a yelp at the prefect's speed before picking up his own pace.

The remaining three watch in unconcealed bewilderment as Tsuna manages to dodge and evade _Hibari_ before the two disappear around the corner, the sounds of their scuffle still slightly audible.

It takes Hana's brain a moment to reboot and work properly again. Once it does, she glances to Kyoko, who is _still smiling_ , and Mochida, who is busy picking up his jaw from the ground. She shoves the scene that she has just witnessed from the forefront of her mind, and focuses on more important matters that need to be dealt with.

"Monkey," she intones, and Mochida immediately snaps out of his daze to glare at her. Insults and blows to his pride are apparently good distractions.

"What?"

"You promise that you won't bother Kyoko and I anymore?" She questions suspiciously, _daring_ him to say no. She doesn't _fully_ understand Tsuna's sudden influence over him, but she knows that she has him on her side should Mochida decide to bother them again. It's surprisingly reassuring.

Mochida blinks. And then he gives a derisive snort before mumbling, " _you_ just happened to be there…"

Hana narrows her eyes and stomps on his foot, grinding her heel into his toes and smirking at the pained twitch he gives. " _What_ was that?"

Mochida winces and turns away, his voice a quiet murmur. "… You already heard me. I'll… I'll stop."

A quiet giggle interrupts the vague interrogation/threat, and they both turn to Kyoko. "Tsuna-kun is amazing, isn't he?"

At Mochida's almost absent-minded, automatic nod (which quickly turns to a horrified look riddled with confusion), Hana lets out a snicker. "Yeah, I guess so. He's still kind of a dolt, but at least he isn't as big a monkey as _Kensuke_ here," she finishes, rapping her knuckles on said boy's shoulder.

Kensuke glares at Hana. "I didn't say _you_ could call me by my first name, _wench_."

Hana eyes him for a moment before snorting, flipping her hair in his face with a satisfying smack. "Oh, of course not. I'm not going to stop calling you 'Monkey', I was just, you know. Going along with the moment."

As Hana watches Kyoko break down into another fit of giggles and Mochida respond in an almost harmless anger and embarrassed indignation, she can't help but wonder exactly _what_ Tsuna is.

To change the situation so drastically in such a short amount of time is nothing short of a miracle.

(She would be lying if she were to say that she isn't somewhat thankful to him.)

* * *

Tsuna runs into an empty classroom, slamming the door behind him before scrambling over to the window.

The doors are shoved open immediately afterward and he barely has a second to register the glinting steel before he is swerving to the side, dodging the weapon by a hair's breadth. He tumbles out of the way and reorients himself to a crouched position, and just before Hibari strikes down, he holds his arms up overlapping with his palms facing forward.

"Stop."

It is an instinctive maneuver, an automatic reaction from days since passed; from one-on-one combat with Hibari Kyōya, Cloud Guardian of the tenth generation Vongola famiglia. Tsuna grimaces when he realizes his mistake—the Hibari he once knew understood that some battles and spars were better put off until later, unlike his younger (and far more impulsive) counterpart, and _there is no way the younger Hibari would listen to the command of another_ —

—But to Tsuna's surprise, this Hibari _does_.

Tonfas halt mid-motion, and the prefect's eyes narrow as he observes Tsuna. "... What."

Tsuna takes the brief reprieve to check his health—he has a few nasty bruises from where Hibari had managed to make contact, and nothing more. Only three, but they _hurt_ , and it is a reminder that for all of the endurance training he has been doing he doesn't actually have a sparring partner.

Hibari's grip on his weapons tighten, and Tsuna thinks, _why not_.

"How about weekly spars," he blurts out before his mind can filter his words, which is just as well because he probably would have said much the same thing anyway. "One-on-one spars, in exchange for letting me go. I need to get home soon."

At Hibari's silent, considering look, Tsuna counts his clumsy attempt at negotiation (which is completely _insulting_ , because he knows he can do better than this and wow his conscience is sounding more and more like Reborn) as a success, even as Hibari's shoulders suddenly tense preceding a heavy, unyielding strike aimed at Tsuna's head.

Tsuna, still crouched and not completely mobile, automatically twists and his arms cross, blocking the downward-swiping weapon. He shoves his arms upwards and leaps up, kicking the tonfa and sending it careening into the ceiling above, before landing back in his previous crouch—arms slightly bruised from the maneuver, but otherwise unharmed.

It is an instinctual reaction, but one that is more of the mind than the body because although _he_ remembers the motions his body doesn't due to the fact that he has been focusing on endurance more than anything in the past weeks. But he doesn't focus on that because he is busy inching away from Hibari who is _smiling_.

(Tsuna does recall that Hibari smiled often enough as a child. He smiled often enough as an adult too, but the sight never stopped people from staring because of how _odd_ it seemed for the aloof man to actually _smile_. It was a reminder that for all that he liked to beat people into the ground for the most minor of offenses, he was still human.)

(… Even if Gokudera always contested otherwise, but that is something else altogether.)

Hibari straightens from his stance, tosses his remaining tonfa into the one in the ceiling and catches them both as they descend in a fluid motion.

"Every other day," he says, still smiling. "And no holding back."

Then he turns away, and walks out of the door.

Tsuna does nothing for a few brief moments, simply staring at the door his once-guardian walked out of. And then he sighs as he stands up, lightly patting his legs to dust himself from the dirt and debris he kicked up on the way there.

 _Figures_ , he thinks, smiling fondly. _Kyōya_ would _be the one to notice when I'm holding back, even if it isn't by much._

* * *

 **A/N: Not sure when I'll have the next chapter since I'm going back to Japan for a little while for family business, and as soon as I get back I'll be in school. I'll probably have internet access but I don't know if I'll have a computer to continue working on this.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** **: *gasps* She lives. Sorry this chapter took so long to get out, inspiration is still on vacation and time is sparse. (Chapter length is a bit longer than usual, so hey) It is greatly due to a friend of mind that I came back to this story—I never** _ **dropped**_ **it, but I was having a hard time writing anything at all. He interfered, and between the two of us we really, REALLY fleshed out Tsuna's character. I already had a formed character in mind, but we came up with so many different future!Vongola scenarios, between Tsuna and his family, and even a side-story set after Tsuna came to the past.**

 **Word count is ~8.8k.**

 **WARNING: PTSD-induced symptoms, vomiting imagery (though it's mostly vague I think), a little bit of gore. Also; author thinking, "I hadn't meant to deviate** _ **this**_ **much from canon," while piloting a craft that is simultaneously on fire and plummeting down at mach speeds.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

* * *

 _After graduation, Kyōko and Haru traveled to Italy with Tsuna and his Guardians._

 _He had already attempted to convince them of otherwise, protested the idea of them coming along with him—they were already involved, but they weren't yet_ known _so it was still possible for him to utilize his power as Decimo to erase their involvement. They would disappear from the Mafia world, regarded as little more than one of many people he had happened to have a passing acquaintance with in his civilian years._

 _They had their whole lives before them, he had said in a bid for reason, they were_ young _and making a decision on emotional impulse. He didn't want them to waste their lives in—in Vongola._

 _(In the shadows, in the_ mafia _, went unsaid.)_

 _They had both, surprisingly (or perhaps unsurprisingly, when one considered just how they helped shaped his world later on) promptly told him to just_ be quiet and accept them into the family.

 _He was going to change things, and they knew it. They weren't about to be left in the_ dust _while Tsuna and everyone else went off to disappear and change the underworld. "It isn't very nice to try and leave us behind," Kyōko had said, expression set in a stern pout. "Especially not when you're taking my brother with you."_

" _Besides, if Tsuna-san ever_ does _start to become a true 'mafia' boss, we'll be there to make sure you go back on the right path! The path of justice, hahi!"_

 _Haru had looked him straight in the eyes, challenging posture all but daring him to attempt to sway them,_ one _more time. Kyōko stood slightly behind her with her usual smile back on her face, yet was no less determined in her stance on the issue._

 _How could he say no to that?_

 _There had, of course, been protests—particularly from Hayato, who was adamant in saying that they were useless civilians that would be more of a burden to them than anything._

" _You'll die," he had said, uncharacteristically grave as he regarded the two girls. "No amount of hard work will cut it if you don't have a knack for it. You'll die before you're able to claw your way up to a defensible position."_

 _Despite his harsh words, the veiled worry was evident. Mukuro aside, it stood to believe that of their little entourage,_ he _understood the Mafia world the most. In his own gruff, stand-offish fashion, he was trying to look after them by keeping them from a life in the shadows._

 _And yet, they had still insisted. And eventually, proved his (and everyone else's) worries wrong._

 _Haru, for all that she acted rather air-headed and flighty in middle school had quickly shown a surprisingly sharp cunning and mastery of words that made her an apt informant. It eventually reached a point where Mammon adopted her of their own free will (Mammon, the money-grubbing self-serving informant of Varia,_ Mammon _) as an apprentice—for a percentage of her gains, of course—and her abilities only improved from there._

 _It turned out that her odd speech patterns and (literal) fast-talking weren't simply superficial quirks, and could be utilized in negotiation. Some precision and fine-tuning courtesy of Lussuria (because despite being the most capable when discussing finances, Mammon was still rather lacking on the actual art of cloak and dagger negotiations outside of_ money _) was all that she needed._

" _Don't abandon them entirely, but know when it is appropriate to use your speech quirks. Slow down. Think about the words before they leave your mouth. Give yourself the time to organize your wild thoughts and mind."_

 _No one would have imagined that the girl would develop such a shockingly sharp tongue, and Mammon, who had apparently been the first to clue in on the sharp wit buried under her eccentricities (upon later thought, many had realized that, yes, Haru had attended a rather prestigious school, and it was a little_ blind _of them to have not seen it themselves) was subtle but quick to maliciously tease the rest for their oversight._

 _Kyōko had been taken under her brother's wing almost immediately after settling in Italy. Under his tutelage, she learned self-defense, which quickly evolved into actual combat and strategy when she displayed just how_ capable _she was with her speed and surprisingly_ painful _hits. It wasn't so much that she held actual power behind her attacks so much as she had an innate (frightening) understanding of where humans hurt the most._

 _(Reborn had once murmured that her potential as a hitman could one day rival Takeshi's, to which Tsuna had responded with a restrained shudder.)_

 _It probably didn't help that Kyōya had taken an interest in her latent abilities and deigned to unobtrusively tutor her in the art of efficient combat. He always was more of the lithe-speed fighter than brawn, having a mere fraction of the actual muscle-mass Ryōhei had, yet knew how to deal out pain and subdue with minimal energy expenditure. When it came down to it, the two of them had fighting styles that were actually rather similar in nature._

 _Go figure._

 _Not long after Haru and Kyōko were officially accepted as members of Vongola, the latter started co-piloting the former's operations, becoming something of the Vongola's Femme Fatale pair. They both knew enough in each other's specialties to operate alone—Haru had gained a solid understanding of self-defense thanks to her unofficial adoption into Varia, while Kyōko was a bit of a natural at the smile-interrogate-stab routine courtesy of Takeshi—but they just_ clicked _together, efficiently handling assigned tasks of all kinds while having each other's backs._

 _They made a terrifying team. Because while the both of them could be the perfect, brightly smiling housewives with the ability to cook food that had one salivating from the aroma alone, they could just as easily find one's deepest darkest secrets or threaten a man to the point of him promising the next four generations of his family to the Vongola._

 _It_ definitely _didn't help that Bianchi had all but adopted the two of them as honorary siblings, imparting a bit of her knowledge in poison cooking to them as well. (It was a real honor, and one that they realized. For even within famiglia, it was rare for those in the underworld to willingly impart any of their techniques to anyone.)_

 _As such, after half a decade Haru and Kyōko had fully settled themselves within the family as irreplaceable individuals, both in ability and as true_ family _._

 _On the other hand, Hana had remained in Japan when Tsuna and the rest left to Italy. At the time, she had been something of a distant acquaintance to him at most, and both Haru and Kyōko had been rather downcast that the other girl opted to remain out of Vongola's affairs._

 _But six years later saw a change in that, for Tsuna had gotten a harried call from one of his men, talking about a "stubborn woman" who demanded to see him. The call had cut off, leaving Tsuna to stare blankly at the phone as the dial tone sounded. And then the explosions started going off._

 _He had spent all of five minutes bemoaning the expenses and_ paperwork _that would follow the destruction (no-doubt caused by his family) when his doors swung open, and an irate Kurokawa Hana marched up to his desk to shove_ more _paperwork in his face. She stared down her nose at him and spoke in a tone that brooked no argument:_

" _I'm going to be Vongola's lawyer. Sign this."_

 _Tsuna had merely blinked, skimmed over the papers, and signed it without protest._

 _Hana turned to the doorway with a general aura of victory, and that was when Tsuna had noticed that some of his family had followed her, possibly in an attempt to stop her. Gokudera looked indignant and pained, Kyōko and Haru were ecstatic, Ryōhei was shouting his own enthusiasm, and Kensuke was valiantly failing to conceal his distaste._

 _Apparently, Hana had always planned on joining the Vongola someday. Only, she had still wanted to have the option of returning to her family and life_ without _the need for utmost secrecy, hence, her hushed affiliation. That, and she had foreseen that with_ their _tendencies, they would likely be getting into a plenty of legal trouble along the path to changing the underworld._

" _So you'll need a capable lawyer to save your asses when brute force isn't an option. A capable, strong, intelligent, and attractive lawyer."_

 _And that was essentially how the three of them, Haru, Kyōko and Hana, created their own place to belong within Vongola._

 _From where he sits in his office, Tsuna smiles. Young they may be, the three of them are all of intelligent minds and capability, unmatched by many in their chosen specialties. The three of them together are potentially the most dangerous force of Vongola, just behind Tsuna's Guardians themselves—because it is behind prettied smiles and the oft underestimated guise of "woman" that they hide their true capabilities._

 _They are the ones that hold a special place in Tsuna's heart, neither higher nor lower in importance than that of his very guardians. They remind him of home, of power, of happiness, and they have made their own niche in the Vongola as true family._

 _It is these three that were assigned the task of finding all they could about the phantom enemy targeting Vongola._

 _Hana had been reasonably leery of the task, while Haru was beyond enthused with Kyōko right alongside her. It wasn't revenge, but they still wanted to do all they could for the sparse hope of Kensuke still being alive._

 _(For_ Tsuna _went unsaid, but understood. For there was not a single individual within their family that didn't know of Sawada Iemitsu and Nana.)_

 _A week has passed without word, however, and a familiar dread pulls at Tsuna's conscience. He cannot do this. He cannot worry, cannot make rash decisions, and yet…_

 _And_ yet _._

 _He, swaddled in paperwork, calls up his chauffeur and heads to the small apartment that the three women utilize as their temporary base._

 _He tells himself that they are okay._

 _They are okay, it is simply minute paranoia from the past weeks—this isn't his_ Hyper Intuition _, it isn't, he knows it isn't no matter how similar it feels—and he will be seeing them soon._

 _He tells himself that very soon, he will be seeing their three bright smiles, deceptively peaceable and demure on the faces of the most capable women he has ever had the privilege of knowing. Chatter will fill the homely air of the apartment, giving a sense of safety, shelter, and rightness with the world. They will welcome him into their base with ease and set his worries to rest._

… _But they don't. When he steps into the apartment, he is instead greeted by deafening silence._

* * *

Tsuna's eyes snap open to early-morning darkness and it isn't until thirty minutes later that he blinks with any remote cognizance in his eyes.

He sits in his bathroom, his eyes blurred and weary, a stinging headache battering the walls of his mind and a distinctly nauseous feeling despite the hollowness settling in his stomach. The foul taste of bile sits on his tongue.

Dreams. Nightmares. _Memories_. He is plagued by a past that has not occurred, a future that will not happen, and yet he is filled with guilt.

They are anywhere from tame memories of his family and friends to horrific _nightmares_ of battle, blood, and death. The choking sensation of smoke permeates his senses, the bitter taste of blood, the feeling of crushed bones and viscera seeping through his gloved fingers as he tries his damnedest to make a _difference_ but he's just one man and they _have an army_ —

Tsuna closes his eyes, and inhales unsteadily. One. Two. Three. Exhale.

He is reminded of the acrid taste in his mouth and the fact that he feels distinctly _gross_. With a faint scowl, he forces himself to stand and goes through the motions of cleaning up.

In the mirror stands a man with burns, scars, lacerations, injuries, and a tired yet determined look to his eyes. Tsuna blinks, and then he sees a boy, worn and weary, a bruised look resting beneath his eyes and sallow cheeks. His hair is matted with sweat, and he can see a slight tremble to his shoulders that he doesn't really feel.

 _I look like a mess_ , he thinks distantly, even as the images superimpose and overlap and become one. He tries to pick out the differences where obvious, such as the height and injuries, but they start to merge and the differences are not so easily seen. Everything is smudged and hazy, all except for the blurred Vongola emblem settled over the man's chest.

A hand lifts and grasps for the emblem, but instead comes into contact with the fabric of his pyjamas.

Another breath. A silent count to three. He exhales.

His mother peeks in at some point, expression worried, and that is when he realizes that the sun is already up. He doesn't know how long he has spent in the bathroom expending stomach acid and past meals, and he gives her some vague reply about not going to school that day. He doesn't feel well, and can study at home. She leaves after that, he thinks, because the next time he looks at the bathroom door it is closed.

He can't rest, he can't sleep without dreaming, and he can't bring himself to do something as mundane as _going to school_. It feels wrong. _Reprehensible_. He can't go, not when there is so much he has to do, when there is so much he _couldn't_ do because he had been complacent _,_ when his family _died_ and he was given another chance only for him to spend it _going to SCHOOL_ —

His flames, volatile and raw, eat away at his restraints and he grits his teeth, tries to find _calm_ , equilibrium, balance.

 _Breathe_ , he tells himself, forcing his flames to bend and twist. _Calm_. He thinks of his rain guardian, and the restlessness ebbs slightly, a flash of familiar blue sparking within his will. His shoulders droop, and the white-knuckled grip he has on the counter slackens.

… He wants to stay in Namimori. Selfish, grasping, _yearning_ ; he wants to _stay in Namimori_ and ignore the impending threat. He wants to gather his family through the means that he knows is certain, repeating the past.

His chapped lips part, his voice raw and subdued. The words come out like a chant, or a prayer.

"… Stick with what you know. Don't change to much. Guarantee that your family will come to you, eventually."

… But he _can't_.

Because that means allowing Hayato to almost kill himself with his own explosives. _No,_ his mind violently rejects, _I can't, not when he_ died _like that, not when I can_ prevent _it_. Because that means allowing Takeshi to injure himself, fall to crippling doubt, and almost take that small step off of that roof. _No, not again_. Because that means allowing Chrome to fade away in a hospital without knowing love and friendship, allowing Mukuro and his friend to stay with the Vindice with nothing but _hate_ driving them and—

—and Tsuna can't allow any of that to happen. Not when they are the people he loves and cares for the most and _he knows what will happen_.

 _He can't._

Tsuna darts out of the bathroom, barely taking the time to snatch up a jacket before he's opened his bedroom window and left.

* * *

Hana's eyelid twitches, her pen tapping an irritated rhythm on her textbook.

 _He's absent_.

Her eyes slide over to Kyoko, who is unusually reticent. Their lunchbreak started about ten minutes ago, but they have hardly said a word to each other.

Hana knows the reason why, and it _irritates_ her.

"So, what's up lately?" She begins simply, because she doesn't like seeing Kyoko looking so worried but she doesn't know what the _hell_ to do.

She clicks her tongue with a roll of her eyes when Kyoko doesn't reply. Damn it, she's _thankful_ for what Dame-Tsuna did but that does't mean that he can go around and, and… _Worry_ her best friend. And the worst part is that this is less _his_ fault and more Hana's _stupid_ best friend's fault for being so damn _kind_ and, just, _GAH._

Hana mentally throws her arms up in the air with a feeling of disgust and defeat.

"… Mochida-senpai hasn't done anything lately," Kyoko answers quietly, her eyes fixed on something in her lunch.

Hana blinks, and then releases a loud snort as she sits back in her chair. "He _better_ not have, or I would've sicced your brother on him."

Kyoko only nods her head, and Hana strangles the urge to sigh. The only reason why they hadn't had Ryōhei interfere before was because Kyoko hadn't wanted to make a fuss, but because of Tsuna's interference, that had already become something of a lost cause. Whether or not they end up needing to have Ryōhei beat him a few times to really get the message through, Hana doesn't care either way.

Hana opens up her packaged sandwich as Kyoko picks at her food, watching the blonde's brow furrow minutely. When Kyoko glances over her shoulder with a worried look, Hana doesn't hold back the automatic sigh. She knows exactly what is on her friend's mind before she even says it.

"I wonder if Tsuna-kun is okay."

"I'm sure he's fine," Hana replies without missing a beat, eyeing her sandwich. "Or, as fine as someone in Hibari's sights can be."

"Mm."

She takes a bite out of her sandwich and scowls. She should have just brought her own lunch today. _Oh right, I_ couldn't, she thinks bitterly, _because I was thinking about the events from the other day so much that I couldn't sleep until late, and ended up sleeping through my damn alarm._

"… I wanted to thank him today," Kyoko murmurs, before finally taking a small bite of rice.

Hana doesn't reply, instead directing a firm look of disgust at the sandwich that she has set down on the wrapper. Her eyes drift past, however, to Kyoko's bag hanging on the side. She notices a little red box peeking out and sneers. Of _course_ Kyoko would do something like this, with her _stupid_ pure heart and _stupid_ habit of making friends and _stupid_ innocence.

She swipes the snack and tears it open, to Kyoko's shock and protest. "W-wait, Hana-chan, that's not—"

"He doesn't _need_ something like this when just a verbal thank-you is enough," Hana says, taking a pocky treat out for herself and shoving one in Kyoko's hovering hands. She waves her free hand dismissively as Kyoko blinks. "Don't worry about him. _Seriously_. He's probably fine, and he's a _monkey_ so he wouldn't appreciate this as much as I do right now."

She takes a deliberately loud bite out of the thin treat and reaches for another. She grabs three instead. "I was craving something sweet, anyway."

Kyoko stares at her with impossibly wide eyes for a few moments, and Hana feels distinctly _awkward_ because by now she has about four pieces of pocky in her mouth and she thinks she probably looks like a chipmunk. Or an idiot. Or both.

How mortifying.

Then, Kyoko smiles, which is followed by a quiet giggle, before descending into uninhibited laughter, and Hana can't help but smirk at the small victory. Or, well, as much of a smirk a person can give with their mouth full of pocky.

Well, at least she's managed to cheer up her friend, even _if_ her pride is in tatters because of it.

* * *

Sasagawa Ryōhei's day had gone as per the usual. He woke up for his early-morning jog, slept through his classes, ate the delicious lunch his little sister made, slept through more of his classes, and then went to the boxing club in order to work out.

When he had gotten home however, Kyoko confided in him about a certain Sawada Tsunayoshi that had helped her out the other day, and her worries.

" _He wasn't in any of his classes today, I think. I kind of want to go over to thank him for the other day and to see if he's alright, but…" Kyoko trails off, looking uncertain. "Somehow, I feel like I might be prying if I did that."_

And of course, Ryōhei, being the great older brother he is, had volunteered to go over and check for her. He was pretty certain he had passed by Sawada's house a few times on his daily jogs, and this would be a good chance for more training. Kyoko had protested almost immediately, saying that she didn't want to bother Tsuna-kun—the familiar form of address was filed away in the back of his mind—and that it was the same if he went.

He had been quick to assure her that no, it wasn't the same, because he would also be there to try and recruit Sawada! If he had helped his little sister to such a degree, then surely he was truly a man suited for the boxing club.

Kyoko's only reply was a tired but understanding smile.

After giving him the directions to Sawada's house, she gave Ryōhei a brief hug with a quietly murmured "thank you." With a quick salute and a victory cry for luck, he had dashed down the street to fulfill his little sister's request.

Which leads to the current problem.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sawada's mother says with an apologetic smile. "He isn't here right now."

Ryōhei blinks. "He isn't?"

Sawada's mother shakes her head with a sigh. "Tsu-kun wasn't feeling too well earlier this morning, so I didn't make him go to school. But when I checked in on him at around lunch time, he wasn't there, and his window was open." She pauses briefly, tapping her chin with a hum. "… He might have gone for some exercise."

Ryōhei sits up a little straighter at the statement. "Exercise?" It was a little weird to think about, because Sawada was kinda skinny and really short. Admittedly, Ryōhei hadn't really gotten a good look at the boy, but Sawada never exactly gave the impression that he exercised much, and he was so spindly that it didn't look like impulsive exercise was even _healthy_ for him.

Still, Ryōhei respected that.

"Yes," Sawada's mother says. "Several weeks ago, Tsu-kun had suddenly become very… Motivated."

The word is tinged with an odd quality that Ryōhei doesn't really catch, but the small oddity is forgotten when she gives a short giggle. "Goodness, he was so _lazy_! I used to have to remind Tsu-kun to clean his room or wash the dishes multiple times before he'd actually do it, but, lately he's been doing everything and _more_ without any prodding."

She sighs, and smiles brightly. "Well, I'm glad he has a friend like you, Ryōhei-kun. Maybe you helped motivate him."

Ryōhei frowns. He doesn't even _know_ Sawada—has only ever seen passing glimpses of the boy—and is fairly certain Sawada doesn't know him, either… But. "Yeah!" He says, frown replaced by a beaming grin. "Sawada's a pretty cool guy."

He may not know Sawada personally, but from what he's heard from his sister and the boy's mother, the statement doesn't ring false to his ears.

* * *

He's about an hour into his aimless half-jog, half-'Search-for-Sawada' when he feels it.

Ryōhei doesn't really know what "it" is, but it's enough for his pace to slow and a frown to tug at his expression. If he's being frank, the sensation is similar to that weird feeling he had experienced some weeks ago—that pulling, tugging urge that made him want to find the source.

With a shake of his head, he starts off at a faster-paced jog, this time listening to the odd feeling and going in the direction it seems to want to lead him.

But when the feeling leads him through the forest and to the _Namimori Shrine_ of all places, he stops. He crosses his arms, tilts his head, and aims an inquisitive look at the traditional building.

(He hadn't followed it, last time—he'd been in the middle of training and it was too late to head out again to follow some random impulse. And when he had told Kyoko and Hana about the weird sensation the following day, the brunette scowled at him and accused him of trying to _scare_ them with ghost stories. Now that he's at a shrine, he wonders if ghosts really _are_ involved.)

(… He briefly wonders what it'd be like to punch a ghost.)

Ryōhei stiffens at the sudden sound that cuts through the air, his fists coming up automatically to defend as his eyes dart around for the source. The sound wasn't exactly a crash or a crack, and it even makes him think of something _explosive,_ what with the low reverberations he could feel. Whatever it was, it was _loud_ , and he wouldn't be surprised if people in the populated areas had heard it.

His eyes flicker up to the tree-line as a flock of birds fly upwards. Frowning curiously, he jogs in the general direction where he thinks the source is.

And promptly trips on something in his path.

Ryōhei lets out a startled noise that is closer to a squawk than a shout as he twists, just managing to catch himself before his face collides with the dirt. _A tree_ , he realizes, looking back at the fallen branch as he stands up. His eyes trail upwards, following the splintered remains of the tree, and that's when he sees the destruction around him.

Trees, or what is left of them, are splintered to small bits and strewn about the man-made clearing. Earth is upturned and the shrubbery is uprooted, with areas that are charred black. The damage was not visible from the boundaries of the forest, but here, it is obvious and _immense_.

"What the _hell_ …" Ryōhei wonders aloud, eyes wide and jaw hanging loosely. It looks like one of those deforestation pictures he saw before when Kyoko had been doing research on that eco-friendly school project of hers, or the aftermath of a natural disaster. Like a hurricane, or a tornado. _Or a bear_ , he thinks to himself. Bears are natural, too.

His eyes gleam something unholy as a singular thought forms in his mind:

 _I extremely want to fight a bear._

A crash—this time it's _definitely_ a crash, and he can hear the cracking of bark and wood—brings him out of his hyper-focus. He blinks, shakes his head, and claps his hands over his cheeks, remembering that he is out here for a reason. _Promise first_ , he tells himself, determination strong. _I can fight a bear later._

He is about to leave and continue his search for Sawada, but stops at a blurred movement in the corner of his eyes, something with a faint glow.

He steps closer, and sees the very boy he was looking for just as shock and awe twists his expression—because yes, there is Sawada, hunched over and breathing heavily in a clearing of destroyed trees and upturned earth, but Ryōhei sees the _fire_ that is scattered here and there, brilliant orange flames on every which surface in the immediate area and even the brunet at the center of the destruction—

—and _Sawada is ON FIRE._

(On impulse, he admires the fact because it actually seems _really cool_ , but the point is that his sister's maybe-friend is on fire and therefore in _danger_ so—)

Ryōhei darts forward, hand outstretched towards the younger boy. "SAWADA! ARE YOU—"

Orange engulfs his vision, blinding him. Ryōhei squints against the flash of light, preceding the sudden impact that hits him in the stomach, _hard_ , and the distinct feeling of his ribs caving inwards causes his eyes to cross at the pain. His back collides harshly with something—a tree probably—and his head most likely hits something too judging by the pain that erupts from the back of his neck. A shrill ring pierces his ears and he lets out a pained gasp as he finally hits the ground.

He tries to breathe, to clear his mind from the pain, and he incoherently wonders things that roughly translate to _what the hell just happened?_

He doesn't know why, but he's pretty sure it was _Sawada_ who had just sent him flying, and he feels slightly ashamed of his earlier thoughts on the boy, about him appearing weak. Ryōhei has never been one for sarcasm, but he feels like his likely broken ribs would like to protest that assumption.

"—awa-san!" He feels something pat his cheek. "—agawa-san!"

Ryōhei cracks open his eyes—it takes a lot more effort than he would've thought—and sees Sawada hovering above him, worried, frantic, and without a trace of fire on his person. He glances past the boy, and notices that the fires that were dispersed around the clearing are gone now, too.

"Sasagawa-san, can you hear me!?"

He gives a weak nod, and attempts to shift to a sitting position. His attempt is rewarded with a sharp lance of pain that seems to shoot from his back to the ends of his toes and fingers. _Ow_.

"We should—we should probably get you to the hospital, or something, I'm pretty sure I b-broke some of your ribs," Sawada rambles, face pinched with worry and thinly veiled panic. Ryōhei's first instinct as an older brother is to assure, but he actually can't really move right now.

Sawada reaches for his stomach, however, and Ryōhei instinctively jerks away before letting out an agonized groan at the pain the action caused. He doesn't see how Sawada freezes, expression fading away and leaving his face unreadable.

"… I'm sorry." The apology is stated quietly, and Ryōhei understands, he _does_ , he had just been worried that Sawada was going to poke his stomach or something. Which would hurt _a lot_. And he would voice that, but it kinda hurts to even _breathe_ so he instead gives a shaky smile and an attempted thumbs-up.

"I didn't mean to… To attack you, like that," Sawada says, gaze unreadable. "But please, trust me, I'll fix this. It's the least I can do."

Before Ryōhei can even shoot him a questioning look, the younger boy's hands _light up_ with the flames he saw earlier. And he presses his hands to Ryōhei's stomach.

Ryōhei braces himself for the expected pain, his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched… But, instead of pain, feels something… _Different._ The pain is still there, yes, but there is also an odd ticklish sensation he hasn't felt since he was a child, and the familiar feeling of stretching muscles and skin that he feels on a daily basis when he works out is present. It's also warm, but comfortable, unlike the burning he had expected.

Curious, he opens his eyes, and is immediately enamored with the flickering fire that engulfs his stomach and Sawada's hands.

It's not a normal fire, he realizes. Ryōhei has never been one for metaphors, not unless they were related to boxing, but the fire seems almost like it's _alive_ and he can't seem to take his eyes away from the steady flickering and the stray sparks. A small part of him at the back of his mind realizes that this fire isn't the same as the earlier one—that this one is yellow-er, unlike the other fire's orange hue—and he is _fascinated_.

 _It's magic_ , he thinks, _believes_. It has to be. Sawada can use _magic_.

Ryōhei wants to shout and yell and jump around because this is _EXTREMELY cool_ and he hasn't been this awed by something since he redirected his fighting passion into boxing, but he still can't really move. That, and it's actually really cool watching the fire, both the yellow one in Sawada's hands and the strong determination in the boy's eyes as he concentrates on his task.

So Ryōhei quietly—a rarity in itself—observes, wondering who exactly the boy named Sawada Tsunayoshi is, and how he can control magic fire.

* * *

Tsuna has never directly harmed his family before.

His flames flicker briefly, and his eyes sharpen in a silent but stern command to himself. _Calm down_. His tightly reined-in flames flicker once more before settling, and he is able to once again direct his focus to healing his friend. His _friend_ , his brother, his Guardian, his Sun. Who _he_ hurt.

The Sun flames coating his hands do not falter this time, but he inwardly _seethes_.

He had _never_ directly harmed his family before.

Yes, he had sparred with them, leaving them with obvious bruising and injuries in exchange for his own. Sparring between him and his family never ended without a casualty or two, and Vongola's Suns were always willing to heal the physical damage dealt.

Tsuna supposes that he should also consider the fact that many choices he had made often worried his family. (It was an old argument that, yes, his choices and own occasional lack of self-preservation hurt _them_ , so he accepted it as such.)

But _never_ had he gone and attacked one of them with the _intent to kill_ , accident or not.

In the future, he had become far too familiar with their presences to ever register them as threats. Even his _flames_ recognized them, to the point where imprints of their flames were left on his own will.

But Ryōhei… Tsuna had almost killed him. He had not been in a right state of mind. His flames were too powerful and too much for his current body—his sadness, grief, anger frustration; _everything_ needed to be channeled out, and he had needed an outlet.

Tsuna doesn't know how long he has been out in the forests for, but he knows that the entire day passed in a blur. Once he had left his home, he had fled to the forest and entered a state of quiet, methodical destruction—no longer thinking, simply breaking down his surroundings in as controlled a manner as he could manage.

He still didn't, _doesn't_ have full control over his flames. It is understandable, considering it can take years to fully condition one's body to handle the absence of limiters. But had he not been so lucky, had he realized _even a split second_ later…

Tsuna swallows, the inside of his mouth feeling like parchment and sandpaper.

It had only been that brief flash of recognition he felt before he struck that woke him. It was the familiar, yet _contained_ presence of the boy's Sun flames that had him clamp down on his own and divert the force of the blow lower, instead of to the heart. Severe, but not fatal.

 _Panic_. Panic, that was what Tsuna had felt the moment he realized what he had done—sheer, unadulterated _panic._

Because even the possibility of willfully, maliciously _harming_ his family is something unthinkable and impossible to him.

Because he had almost killed one of the people that he loved _with his own hands_.

Tsuna winces as his flames flicker once again, this time from being well and truly drained. He lets the Sun flames diminish and pats Ryōhei's midsection, nodding to himself when he feels no protruding ribs or lasting issues.

"What was that?" Ryōhei asks in a quiet tone, voice breathy and filled with awe. Tsuna looks up and, yes, the boy looks to be about an inch away from expounding his usual "extreme" thoughts. "It looked like your hands were on _fire_ , I think that _was_ fire but it didn't burn and it healed me—how did it heal me? How did it not burn you? Was it magic? Can you teach me!?"

Tsuna's hand twitches as he tamps down the urge to rub his forehead. He _had_ decided he would deal with the repercussions of letting Ryōhei see his flames afterwards—mostly because he had been far too panicked to simply send the boy off to the hospital in the care of strangers when _he_ had been the one to injure him—but he is beginning to wonder if he perhaps forgot that the current Ryōhei is a civilian child. A _very excitable_ civilian child.

Tsuna takes a moment to quietly admit that he is very, _very_ tired.

Technically speaking, it _would_ be safer if Tsuna starts preparing his guardians from now, giving them more time to develop a firmer understanding of flames than what they all gained through necessity the first time (which, considering the circumstances, had left many unanswered questions for all of them).

The main issue with that, however, is the Vindice.

Tsuna sighs at the reminder, and does not stop the urge to rub his forehead this time. At the moment, neither Tsuna or Ryōhei are "marked" and under the Vindice's watch—only acknowledged persons of the mafia are—and therefore it would be possible to escape their wrath long enough for both of them to become fully acknowledged as mafia. And even in the case that they are found out prior to then, there is logically no reason for either of them to _know_ , and considering they are both considered very much civilian at the moment their punishments would not be so severe.

(Of course, Tsuna's relationship with the Vindice, Bermuda in particular, was much lighter in the future. Whether that was because of his position or because the Vindice leader actually favored him was up for debate, but it was a fact that the man _was_ more lenient on Tsuna and his family than others, however slight. The Vindice were also, contrary to their label, less revenge-bound and vindictive, most likely due to the fact that they had been given control over the Pacifiers.

Taking these facts into consideration, it is very well possible that Bermuda and the Vindice _would_ lock up two civilian children without pause or sympathy, what with the combination of still-present spite and their unyielding, law-abiding ways. It is not a pleasant thought.)

Call him foolish, but even in the event that he ends up facing-off against the Vindice for his freedom, Tsuna feels as though he would still manage to sway them to his side—possibly without revealing the full-extent of his situation, even.

So.

"Alright, I'll tell you." At Ryōhei's suddenly _very_ attentive look, he adds, "but, you can't tell anyone about what I say, or anything about the flames."

"Because it's magic," the boy says confidently, nodding to himself as though affirming his statement. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about your fire magic. It's a promise!"

Tsuna blinks slowly. He decides to go along with whatever conclusion Ryōhei has come to and mentally sets the subject of "magic" aside. "Er, all right, so. What you saw me using was a Flame of Sky. There are seven different types of Flames of Sky in total, including Sun—the yellow-tinted one that heals—and Sky—the orange one."

"The others are Storm, Mist, Cloud, Rain, and Lightning, with the colors of red, indigo, purple, blue, and green respectively. Each flame has an attribute and ability that separates it from the others. For instance, my Sky flame has a "harmonization" characteristic that, well, basically makes it easier for me to bond with other flame users. The Sun flame's characteristic is 'activation,' and it can be used to heal and stimulate. Storm has a 'disintegration' characteristic, Cloud has 'propagation,' Rain has 'tranquility,' Mist has 'construction,' and Lightening has 'hardening.'"

Tsuna pauses at the decidedly blank look on Ryōhei's face and sighs. "… Did you get any of that? Sasagawa-san?"

Wherever Ryōhei's brain happened to wander off to during the explanation, it seemingly comes back at the mention of his name. He blinks, and beams. "Hey, what fire do I have?"

Tsuna admittedly regrets that he didn't really pay attention to whatever Reborn had told Ryōhei the first time around to get the concept of flames to really stick, but he silently promises himself that he'll just try to explain as much as he can. "You have the Sun flame, Sasagawa-san."

"Whoa! How did you know? Is it some kind of detector-thing that you have?"

Tsuna laughs at Ryōhei's excitement. He really did forget just how full of "youthful vigor" the boy had been at a younger age. The Ryōhei he knew was much the same, of course, but tempered and far more controlled. "Well, I guess so? Detecting flames and flame type is actually a Mist specialty, though it is a learnable trait with enough training."

"Does that mean you have that Mist fire too?" Ryōhei asks, giving off the impression of a puppy trying to withhold it's excitement. "Oh! Do I have other fires? Can I use that Mist fire thing too?"

Tsuna coughs discretely. "Flame, Sasagawa-san."

Ryōhei blinks, then gives a sheepish laugh as he rubs his neck. "Oh right. Flame, my bad."

"It's alright. Anyway," Tsuna begins, moving back to the subject, "no, I don't have a Mist flame. I'm purely a Sky."

"… But, you were able to use the Sky flame and the yellow one. The, er, Sun flame."

Tsuna smiles, a bit glad the boxer caught that. "Well, yes, it's possible for people to wield multiple flames, but let me explain to you flame designation first. A person's flame type is based on both hereditary and environmental factors. Whichever flame is most prominent in the family ancestry is most likely to be an individual's flame type—though, a parent's flame type would hold stronger sway than, say, a grandparents. And on the environmental side, it's more a mixture of personality and environment through developmental stages. It is possible to manipulate a person's environment and upbringing to give them the ability to wield a flame that _isn't_ one they were inherently born with, but…" Tsuna gives a weak smile. "It isn't really recommended."

In the future, Tsuna and his family had been major contributors to the efforts of Spanner, Shouichi, and Verde in figuring out the true natures of Dying Will Flames. The specified environments that they had managed to reason out for each flame type were all high-stress, and therefore detrimental to the mental and emotional wellbeing of children, which had made the actual testing of their theories an impossibility. It made sense, considering the subject was on _dying will_ , but it was still an unpleasant thought to think about—especially when everyone began to realize how Mukuro's flame quality was so pure.

(The sudden influx of sympathy Mukuro received in lieu of the revelation was enough to make the man drop his smile for a whole three days, and Kyōya's apathetic "I will bite you to death" attitude actually made the man not-so-subtly _hover_ around Kyōya, much to the Committee Leader's ire. It was both amusing and unfortunate that Mukuro was more comfortable around hostility than unabashed sympathy.)

Tsuna shakes his head, pushing his wandering thoughts to the side. "Each individual always has a primary flame type, which is the flame that is of the highest 'quality' within them. The flame quality is the percentage of flame type a person has, and this determines the primary, secondary, tertiary, and so on flames in order from highest quality to lowest."

"In summary, a person's flame is determined by personality, environment, and inheritance. With this in mind, it's common for people to have flexible flames at a young age that allow for use of multiple flames while retaining a primary flame. This also means that people are not restricted to _specific_ flame types. It's possible for those familiar with other types to train themselves to handle those flames despite not being their primary, and, if they are young enough, to turn a secondary or tertiary hereditary flame type to their primary. However, both have to be hereditary for this to happen, and the weaker the secondary flame type is compared to the primary, the more work required."

"Also, even though people can learn other flame types depending on their environment by shifting their will's nature, it is not possible for them to change their primary through these means. As in, flames that have not been _inherited_ can never become the primary. Conversely, those that are born with multiple hereditary flame types are capable of having any of those same types as their primary, depending on upbringing and personality." He refocuses on Ryōhei, who looks _very_ pained. "… Uh, did you get that?"

"… So…" Ryōhei starts, expression still twisted but realization dawning in his eyes. "…You can use multiple flames because of how you were raised?"

Tsuna quietly thinks that, considering the boy's disposition, he is giving a valiant effort to pay attention. Nonetheless, "No. Because I'm a Sky, my harmonization factor gives me certain allowances."

"'Allowances'?"

"Yes," Tsuna nods. "People that use flame types that are not Sky are actually encouraged to have less flames hindering the quality of their primary. This is mostly because flame quality affects an individual's ability to harmonize with a Sky and form flame-type bonds with others due to the dissonance of multiple flame types within their will."

This was the reason why it was encouraged for parents of high-potential flame bearers to give their children relatively happy and nurturing (neutral) upbringings. This way, the secondary requirement of personality and upbringing would not interfere with the hereditary flame, allowing the child to nurture a single flame type with a high quality.

"Sky flame users are exempt from this rule since they are able to gain a second-hand feel of the flame types of those they hold bonds with, and are therefore able to utilize said flames without the need to completely restructure their base nature. Due to this, the flame type they use ends up being the same quality as their Sky flame and behaves as though they _are_ that flame type." Tsuna rubs his arms with a wince. "The drain is significantly higher though, and I can't maintain the use of other flames nearly as long as I can maintain Sky flames. Where I could use a constant stream of my Sky flames for days, using other flames will tired me out within hours."

And in his silent defense to no one in particular, he is not only in a much younger and untrained body, but he had been spending more than half the day steadily expending his flames. The soreness he feels is excusable, as far as he is concerned, and he _had_ managed to clear quite a bit of forest, meaning that he hadn't really lost too much in the way of efficiency—

Tsuna _pales_ , his eyes darting left and right as he fully takes in the destruction he left in his wake. The destruction he did to the forest, the _Namimori forest_ , that is still considered _Namimori property_.

… _Shit_ , Tsuna thinks quietly to himself, feeling completely justified in his use of the word. _Hibari-san is going to KILL me_. And it's true. If the Kyōya of this time ever finds out it was _him_ who did this to the Namimori forests, there will be blood.

He makes a quiet note to himself: _next time, leave Namimori before I have my meltdown._

"… So," Ryōhei begins, causing Tsuna's focus to redirect from his thoughts of impending doom. "I can't use flames other than the one I was born with?"

At Tsuna's uncertain nod, he grins widely and throws a punch in the air. "Alright! I'm gonna learn how to be awesome with my Sun flame then!" He pauses, and turns to Tsuna with a confused look. "… How do I do it?"

The question is accompanied by an odd wiggle of his fingers, as though trying to imitate the movement of a flame.

Tsuna winces, thinking back to his explanation. He… Didn't actually _explain_ what the flames were manifestations of, did he?

"These flames are called Dying Will flames, Sasagawa-san," he says, slowly. "They're based on the strength of a person's will, their _dying_ will, and even though I know you'd have powerful flames you are flame dormant right now—your physical limiters have not been broken. To become flame active, a dangerous situation that risks your life would be required."

He pins Ryōhei with a weighted stare. "Promise me you won't do anything to try and release your flames."

The boy frowns. "But—"

"If you wait, you will eventually be able to use flames," Tsuna interrupts, "so please, for now, just _wait_."

Ryōhei opens his mouth to protest, but seems to think better of it as he frowns, eyes glazing over as his mind wanders. But then he blinks, grins widely, and claps his hands over Tsuna's shoulders. "Okay, I understand! I won't do anything life-threatening since it worries my little bro so much."

Tsuna flinches as something in his stomach twists. "… What?" He murmurs, trying to control the slight tremble of his hands. "'Little bro'?"

Ryōhei only nods. "You got this look in your eyes, kinda like the one Kyoko gets whenever she's really worried. And you also healed me, so you're my little bro now!"

"I was the one to injure you to begin with," Tsuna points out weakly.

"Doesn't matter," Ryōhei ripostes with a shrug. "I've decided that you're a cool guy, and you're gonna be my little bro now."

Tsuna smiles, a little strained, yet he can't deny the warmth he feels.

"Alright, Ryōhei-nii."

It feels like a lifetime has passed since he last called his Sun that.

* * *

Tsuna and Ryōhei eventually split up when they make it back to Namimori proper, each going in the directions of their homes.

And as soon as Ryōhei is out of sight, Tsuna lets a small frown form on his face.

It doesn't feel like he's managing to do much as it is, despite feeling that he could and should be doing much _more_. Logically, this sort of reckless mindset is not the wisest to adopt, and is the sort to get an individual involved with the mafia killed.

Almost automatically, following his time displacement, Tsuna had taken the decidedly "safer" route. Because if he were to repeat events as he recalled them, then the chances of him getting his family back together and secured were higher. Or, at least, the chances of something deviating and him losing one of them (Mukuro, for instance) was far less of a worry on his mind.

But he had forgotten something dire—he hadn't _wanted_ to take the "safe" route.

Because he didn't want and couldn't _let_ the people he cared for go through what they had before. He needs to change things, needs to make an impression, needs to solidify the idea that _Vongola is not to be messed with_. Most of all… This time, when he _isn't_ involved with the mafia, when he is simply a civilian living in the quiet town of Namimori, is when it's safest. When the actual risk of death is lowest.

That's the issue, Tsuna realizes. He is still acting as the Vongola Decimo in the middle of what amounts to be a controlled war, not… Not as the spindly, "dame" Japanese middle schooler left in ignorance about his heritage. That he technically _is_ , right now, as far as everyone important is concerned.

And if he were to be perfectly honest with himself, this time of quiet and ambiguity is the best time to try and handle the less covert operations he may need to handle in the future, before Reborn is around to cast his suspicions.

Tsuna closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, his brow furrowing. Talbot was one thing, because the man kept to himself for the most part. Though he was always under Vongola's protection, his occasional disappearances were not as carefully monitored as would be expected, and he was not bound by the famiglia vow that he report to Vongola any suspicious occurrences he happened to be privy to.

Even in the Vindice's eyes he was, _is,_ an outlier to the mafia, his loyalty and affiliation more to the man known as Giotto than the _Vongola Primo_ and his famiglia. It is merely a personal promise, one held between Talbot and Giotto, that secures his loyalty. Tsuna also knows that, in his old age, Talbot actually _liked_ the feeling of knowing something the rest of the world didn't, hence, his indiscretion of revealing his plans to the elderly man.

But everything else?

Once Reborn arrives, Tsuna will have no hope of evading the eyes of the hitman. Twenty-four in mind he may be, Reborn still has _years_ ahead of him. If he had his family it would be more feasible, but at the moment he is a thirteen-year-old boy amongst the populace, a teenaged-boy whose _family_ consists solely of his mother and absentee father. And his timeframe for making the changes that really matter is growing thing.

 _I have to do this_ , he thinks with a sigh.

He has to. Because it is based on a selfish wish, a _want_ , that he remain in Namimori long enough for his family to come together on it's own. If he is being honest, he had taken a rather cavalier approach to hiding the truth because he _had_ decided—he was in the past, and he was going to change things.

When Tsuna enters his house several minutes later, he walks into the living room where his mother is resting. He breathes in a fortifying breath, steadies himself, and sets his wishes aside.

"Kaa-san?" He begins, and Nana turns to him questioningly.

"I need money for a school trip."

* * *

 **A/N** **: Yeah, this is pretty divergent from what I originally had planned. In my defense, I feel like Tsuna would take an active approach, or would at least try. Imo that's better than 6+ more chapters of him being uncertain, doing exactly what happened in canon, and somehow still messing things up. I basically wrote myself into a wall with the old ideas, so this was my solution. I even added my own flame meta for multi-flame Tsuna! Apathy at canon has reached a new level.**

 **(Edit: I forgot to mention, but credit to Araceil and Reighost for their KHR flame meta - my flame theories are loosely based off of theirs. Mostly regarding the terms used, but credit is given where credit is due.)**

 **I'm sorry, but again, I don't know when I'll be able to update next. I have the next 3 or so chapters fully planned, but I don't know if I'll have the time or motivation to sit down and write them out.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** **: Please note: the location of the European Vendicare is not stated in canon, as far as I'm aware. (at the very least, it isn't on the wiki, which is my source.) All I know is that it's located in a remote, probably mountainous location with snow. So, I've taken liberties with this lack of information and placed the European branch in a location that makes sense to me (and is conveniently located, thank heck).**

 **The junior high school I went to had Saturday classes, but due to most Japanese junior high schools no longer having Saturday education (and because it'd be better for the story overall), Namimori middle students have class mon-fri.**

 **Word count is ~7.2k.**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

* * *

 _The Vongola dining room is silent save for the occasional clink of silverware against ceramic._

 _Tsuna eyes the eerie glow that filters through his wine glass as he chews, contemplative. None of them can really find the time to eat dinner together anymore which means that time spent in the dining room, let alone with the others, is rare. So they all eat whenever they are actually able to pull themselves away from work._

 _He takes another bite of his food and ignores the way his heart weighs heavily in his chest, the events from the past several months perpetuating a sadness that he can't shake. The food tastes like sand and gravel to his deadened tastebuds, but he knows he must eat._

 _Once he has managed to clear his small plate of food he takes his last sip of wine, about to leave, when the southern doors are slammed open with an echoing boom._

 _Bianchi and Shamal enter, the former's movements sharp and restrained, the latter's sluggish, but both move with a purpose. Tsuna observes that Shamal's eyes are shadowed, signs of sleep deprivation clear on his usually content face._

 _Bianchi looks even worse off—her posture is confrontational, her shoulders stiff and her hands balled into fists, and through the stress and worry on her face is a fierce, unshakeable resolve._

 _Tsuna doesn't like the implications._

" _Bianchi, Shamal," he greets, settling back in his chair and interlacing his fingers below the table. "What a rare occurrence. Here for dinner?"_

" _Tsunayoshi," Bianchi says tightly, her voice somewhere between a rasp and a growl. "I'm leaving."_

 _Tsuna's can feel something like dread coil in his stomach, but he plasters a smile onto his face. "The cooks have made a rather delectable course tonight, the polpette is—"_

" _I'm going after Reborn."_

 _Tsuna's smile slides off of his face like oil off of water, and he pins the two of them with an orange-tinted gaze. Shamal's hands ball in a white-knuckled grip but he stares at his boss with determination, as Bianchi tightens her jaw and dares him to say no. They are the picture of stubborn determination, and almost admirable for it._

 _Tsuna closes his eyes as he releases a shaky breath._ What do they both have in common? _Yes, Reborn is a factor, and their premise is believable enough._

 _But Tsuna is not blind. He remembers how, ever since Reborn's disappearance, Bianchi left the safety of the mansion daily. Out of worry, Tsuna had trailed her, and found that her daily outings were to the restaurant she and Reborn had often visited together when he became an official member of Vongola. But even those outings dwindled, her attentions focusing on the famiglia and helping however she could._

 _Shamal had been affected by Reborn's disappearance as well, but not nearly as much as Bianchi, and after a month they had been able to accept that Reborn left for his own reasons. This was nearly a month ago._

 _There is no reason for their worries to return so soon, with such force, unless there is another reason._

 _Tsuna knows that just a week ago, Takeshi and Hayato had returned from the northern base after a skirmish. Takeshi had nearly lost his vision in his left eye and suffered several bullet wounds, but was healthy enough a few days later thanks to Lussuria and Ryohei._

 _On the other hand, Hayato had only suffered a few minor injuries, but was left in a deeply comatose state that even Shamal couldn't determine its permanence._

 _Tsuna's hands tighten around each other at the memory, his knuckles blanching at the pressure._

 _Bianchi and Shamal weren't going out to search for Reborn, no. They were leaving on a suicide mission to try and make a difference in the most selfish manner possible. They wanted to_ avenge _Hayato._

" _You do realize that he wouldn't appreciate it." He watches Shamal stiffen and Bianchi flinch. They know exactly who he is speaking of. "He wouldn't exactly be happy, waking up to hear that his sister and mentor ran off without him to find Reborn."_

 _Bianchi's gaze darts to the side. "I… have to do this."_

" _Hayato would be even unhappier to know that you both died trying to protect him."_

" _I_ HAVE _TO DO THIS!" Bianchi shouts, glaring at Tsuna. "He's the only family I have, and at this point he may as well be_ dead _. Oh, don't look at me like that, I_ heard _that chances of him never waking up are high. Shamal told me, even when the other healers wouldn't. I heard that—"_

 _She fists her hands over her face for a moment, shoulders hunched and head bowed. But when she speaks, it's clear and concise in the too-quiet room. "I heard that he might actually_ die _."_

"… _Tsuna," Shamal calls, and Tsuna directs his attention to the man. He wears a tired grin. "He's her little brother, and the only family she really has left."_

 _Tsuna wants to say that there's still a chance. That if Hayato_ does _wake up, this is the cruelest thing they could do to him. He wants to say that it isn't true, that they're all family, but he knows the meaning underlying Shamal's words._

" _And what about you?" He says instead, pushing his other thoughts to the side. "You're a doctor, Shamal. You're needed here. You're needed here_ with Hayato _, not somewhere else with a death wish."_

 _Shamal's eyes crinkle, though Tsuna can't tell if it's a wince, a glare, or a look of wry amusement. "Someone needs to try and make sure that_ signorina _comes home."_

 _For_ Hayato _goes unsaid._

 _Tsuna closes his eyes with a sigh. When he speaks, the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth and an uncomfortable vice around his chest._

"… _Do as you wish."_

* * *

Tsuna collides with a wall.

"Hey!" Someone calls out irritably from his left, "watch where you're going, Dame-Tsuna!"

Tsuna blinks at the surface he collided into as he rubs his nose, correcting his initial assumption. _Not a wall_ , he thinks dazedly, shaking himself from half-consciousness. He glances to the other two teens present before bowing his head in apology.

"… I apologize for walking into you Yamamoto-san," he says, inwardly wincing at his inattentiveness. Certainly his reflexes aren't as they were as an adult, and his Rain Guardian's presence _did_ tend to have that easing effect on him, but to actually _walk into_ someone…

A powerful slap to his shoulder sends him stumbling, effectively interrupting his thoughts. He aims a suitably questioning glance at the dark-haired teen responsible.

"Haha, it's okay, Dame-Tsuna!" Takeshi says amicably, a toothy grin on his face. "Sorry, I guess we shouldn't have been standing at the entrance like this. We're kinda in the way of everyone else."

"Tch, it's just _Dame-Tsuna_ ," the teen on the left left murmurs testily, and Tsuna doesn't hide the way he squints at him. He doesn't recognize the boy—the other either, really—though he supposes that it's hardly surprising. He didn't exactly have normal friends when he was a child, and though he sometimes took to observing the other students, he never really made a point to remember their names. Especially not after Reborn arrived and proceeded to turn his world upside down.

The other student conspicuously nudges the one that spoke, looking vaguely uncertain. "Oi, maybe you shouldn't…"

"… It's no problem," Tsuna hedges tentatively, turning his attention back to Takeshi. He doesn't exactly like how much this conversation feels like stepping on eggshells. "… You guys should probably move though, before Hibari-san catches you crowding."

The two friends simultaneously pale several shades, and Takeshi's smile falters. But the wariness is quickly replaced by a smile and near-glowing interest.

"Oh! Speaking of Hibari, is it true you beat him?"

Takeshi's two friends, if possible, pale further.

"I, uh, g-gotta go now, see ya later Yamamoto!" One of them stutters out the words hastily, as the other interjects a quick "bye," before turning around and dashing towards the school buildings. Tsuna didn't sense a new presence, but he casts a wary glance around the area to make certain. Any other day he might have found their reactions amusing (he had _Reborn_ for a tutor once, so he feels excused from any label denoting a "sadistic streak" of any kind) but this particular day had already started off rather poorly, and despite caring for the battle-loving Cloud he didn't really feel like fighting right before school.

"O…kay," Takeshi calls after his year-mates in a bewildered tone. He turns back to Tsuna with an awkward laugh. "Hahaha… Anyway. Uh, so, is it true?"

Tsuna allows his face to twist slightly at the thought of "beating" Kyōya. He knows that the man he knew would have been insulted at their confrontation's end being labeled such, even though, personally, Tsuna considered it a minor detail. Though nothing is "minor" in the mind of his once Cloud Guardian, he supposes. "No. We came to an agreement."

Takeshi blinks. "An agreement?"

"Yeah," Tsuna replies, nodding. "Mochida-san and I had something of an unsanctioned match, so Hibari-san tried to punish us. At some point, he focused on me, but I had to get home before my kaa-san began to worry, so I proposed an exchange. Hibari-san accepted it."

"You call him 'Mochida-san'? Not senpai?"

This time, it's Tsuna's turn to blink. "… Uh. Yeah, though technically, I'm supposed to call him Kensuke now." A pause. "… I think."

Takeshi's grin grows wider, somehow. "So, you're friends?"

The question gives Tsuna pause. _Are_ they friends? It had taken Kensuke joining Vongola for the two of them to refer to each other by their first names (or "Vongola," as the man had mocked in the beginning) but even then, it had been more of an inexplicable change rather than one created through friendship; it was something that just… Happened. Was what happened the other day the same? Was it just a spur-of-the-moment impulse set about by the situation presented? Or are they, somehow, mutual friends now?

Tsuna finds that he doesn't know.

He gives a shrug, slightly adjusting the way his bag sits on his shoulder in the process. "Let's get to class. I'm pretty sure we're going to be late any minute."

Though the grin remains in place, a speculative, almost puzzled look enters Takeshi's eyes. "… You're kinda weird, Dame-Tsuna."

"Weird" is not a compliment, not by any stretch of the imagination. It is supposed to represent an anomaly, a negative one, and it is generally meant as an insult.

But Tsuna's whole life has been "weird" ever since Reborn had landed in it, bringing everyone else (his family) together. Everyone _in_ his life has been "weird" in their own ways, with their quirks, habits, backgrounds, and lives that are just as colorful as the flames they possess.

And more than anything, Tsuna knows his Rain Guardian, knows _Takeshi_ , and knows that the word is said without the barest hint of malicious intent.

He smiles.

"Says the one who focused on the honorific I use for an upperclassman instead of the agreement I have with Namimori's prefect." He lightly elbows Takeshi in the arm before he can think better of the overly familiar action. "I'm pretty sure most people would question the agreement, if just because it involves _Hibari-san_."

A weight is dropped on his head in response—an arm, he realizes—as Takeshi all but _leans_ on Tsuna. The taller boy sends a cheeky grin his way, and Tsuna is reminded that he is, well, _short again_. "Hmm. Well if Mochida-senpai gets to be called 'Kensuke,' then you should call me by my name too."

"Maybe if you stop using me as an armrest, please?" Despite his protests, Tsuna is smiling at the vaguely familiar action.

"I don't—"

Both jump at the sudden chime that rings through the air, and exchange a vaguely startled (Takeshi) and amused (Tsuna) glance.

"… We should probably run," Takeshi says with a nervous laugh, his gaze glancing around the grounds.

Tsuna takes a brief moment to appreciate the fact that Takeshi hadn't simply run at the sound of the bell, before darting off towards the classrooms without warning. Takeshi blinks, stunned, and then breaks out into laughter as he moves into a sprint as well.

It still stings a bit, seeing his family younger and knowing that he no longer has them on his side. He likely will never recover from the fact that he had lost them once already, and while he does want his family back, he counts the days for when he is no longer able to see them as they are currently—instead, seeing the older, lifeless faces of the futures he lost. It certainly doesn't help that he is still plagued by memories and dreams of the past, of how he had lost everything before the proverbial reset.

But despite everything, Tsuna can't hide his grin as they run off to the classrooms.

* * *

Tsuna sits in the classroom as their teachers lectures, frowning at his own restlessness.

(It isn't even because of the eyes he can feel on him, though that definitely does play a decent role in his agitated state.)

He _knows_ what is being taught already, can practically recite the theorems in his sleep thanks to Reborn's tutelage, and he can't help but feel restless in the face of what he actually has to do versus how he is occupying his time now.

But it's not like he can just skip out entirely on school, he knows. He had admittedly been a bit—okay, more than a bit—impulsive in his request for money for a "school trip." His mother had acquiesced easily enough, but had Tsuna left town the moment he decided on this course of action, Kyōya or his committee would have been at his doorstep the very next day, immediately disproving his excuse of a _school trip_.

Tsuna glances at the clock and withholds a frown. The school day isn't even halfway through.

 _At least it's Friday_ , he thinks quietly, tapping his pencil to his notebook. It's Friday, meaning, he could catch a flight over immediately after school, have about twenty four hours to find answers, and then come back in time for classes Monday morning. And even if he arrived late, as long as he appeared during school hours he could personally bear the brunt of Kyōya's questions instead of have to needlessly worry his mother or notify his father of his dealings.

It's all rather reckless. It's ill-thought-out and last minute, but frankly Tsuna doesn't have much of a lead to go off of. He knows what he may or may not have to do to try and succeed in the trials he had already dealt with during his time in Japan, but he needed answers regarding the yet-to-be-established Alfero, and why and _how_ he came to the past to begin with. The only people he can think of that could possibly have an inkling of a clue are Kawahira first and foremost, Byakuran, Yuni, and Aria.

Yuni is, well, _non-existent_ right now, so despite how she helped him previously she is out of the question now. Out of the remaining three he only knows the general area where Byakuran and Aria could be, and even then, he only knows for certain where the Giglio Nero famiglia is.

Tsuna frowns as he struggles to recall. Before Millefiore, Byakuran was mafia, yes. He was part of the Gesso famiglia. But after the battle with the Vindice, Byakuran had actually _changed Gesso's location_ so that he'd be closer to Vongola. It had been a whim, and considering Tsuna was amongst the few that weren't still wary of the man, he had accepted it with only slight exasperation, and everyone adjusted from there.

Tsuna comes to the conclusion that he does not recall the exact location of Gesso's old base.

His expression pinches as he tries to remember. He knows that it's probably a futile effort, considering it was _ten years ago_ and that something like that would have been swept up in the memories of literally anything else even more chaotic that occurred in that time, but…

Tsuna jolts when something pokes gently into his side, jarring him from his thoughts. He turns, blinking at Takeshi who… Is in the seat right next to him, where he shouldn't be.

"… Takeshi? … What—"

"I asked Yamaguchi to switch with me when the teacher wasn't looking," Takeshi whispers. "You okay man? You started looking like you were worried a monster would pop out and eat you."

Tsuna glances down at the pen that the boy poked him with before giving a quiet laugh. "No, I'm not worried about some monster eating me. I'm just a little preoccupied, is all." An afterthought, "the class is kinda boring, after-all."

Takeshi doesn't laugh like he expects, however. He stares at him with a raised eyebrow and says, "you sure you're okay?"

Tsuna twitches at the eyes he can feel on him, but nods.

For a moment, it doesn't seem like Takeshi will actually take that as an answer—Tsuna is honestly fine though, he really was just thinking—but then he nods in response. He switches seats back with his disgruntled classmate when their teacher's attention is on the board, whispering an apology and shooting a bright grin Tsuna's way before turning back to the lesson.

Tsuna smiles privately to himself, but his thoughts linger on a new topic, now. Takeshi.

Yes, he had been the one to quiet literally walk into Takeshi, but he still wonders what it was that had spurred on that particular conversation when they could have just gone off their own ways.

The only reason why Takeshi had approached him initially was due to him losing his edge in baseball and feeling his grip on life slip. Later on in their friendship, he had learned that Takeshi had simply been looking for an outlier to his usual groups that he could confide in without anyone's opinion of him changing.

Tsuna frowns. _Is he…?_ … Well, again, it wasn't as if Takeshi had actively sought him out this time. But there was still a clear interest, hence, Tsuna's current wondering on the subject.

It's also possible that even before Vongola, Takeshi had always been like that. It would make sense, considering how popular the boy had been in their teenage years. After all, there hadn't been the hardened line to his smiles from earlier, an indicator Tsuna had learned to pick up from the boy's older counterpart.

 _But at the same time, how much of my Rain Guardian's tells were due to him trusting the family, and not just because I was proficient in reading people_? Tsuna was and is fairly confident in his cultivated ability to read others—thanks to the techniques beaten into him courtesy of Reborn, and his Hyper Intuition—but there is always the possibility of him still misreading someone.

It bothers him, not knowing for certain, especially concerning someone so dear.

He could be overthinking it, he knows; he could be making an issue of something that isn't there. But at the same time, considering how things had gone the first time around, Tsuna doesn't want to chance anything.

Tsuna twitches as the feeling of being watched creeps up his spine, _again_.

He has caught Hana staring twice already in this one class, and even though she's sitting in the rows behind him he knows Kyoko has been watching him, as well. But even between the classes they share, neither of them have actually spoken to him yet.

There's curiosity in their gazes, speculation and thought in Hana's. Knowing the frugal girl as he does, she knows something is up with him, but is still to unconcerned with him specifically to involve herself to find out what. And for all that the teenaged Hana is sharper than most in her age group, she is still a child. She doesn't have many lasting attachments aside from the obvious, she does not have her _famiglia_ to cherish and be simultaneously exasperated over, and she does not have the trained instinct to measure each new acquaintance.

A favor done in her defense means nothing aside from the civilian-minded act of kindness and she likely feels no real obligation of repayment—not that Tsuna would expect anything regardless, he had acted on instinct anyway.

Neither she nor Kyoko know Tsuna beyond what they have heard from the rumors and whatever they gathered from their previous confrontation with Mochida. For all intents and purposes, Kurokawa Hana and Sasgawa Kyoko are average teenagers, and Tsuna understands this.

(As usual, it smarts, even though logically he knows that this is the expected.)

The same could be said about Kensuke and Takeshi, too, and if Tsuna is being honest… He isn't sure what, exactly, his relationships with the four of them are.

Friendly acquaintances sounds about right, but he actually _does_ want to rekindle (or start, he supposes) his friendships with them.

But how?

Tsuna sets his pencil down in the crease of his notebook, sighing. This is all so _strange_ —as a child he thought about this often, but as an adult, things like _friendship_ sort of drifted away from his thoughts, mostly because he already _had_ friends and had a _family_. He made connections to others, particularly others leaders and mafia bosses who were allied to Vongola, but _that_ was more often than not business partnerships, friendly acquaintances, instead of actual "friends."

 _How exactly does an_ adult _go about making friends with_ teens _, anyway?_ Tsuna closes his eyes, somewhat unnerved. _Reborn trained me to be strong, to negotiate well, to do everything he demanded, to be_ Vongola Decimo _, but I suppose this one thing never really changed._

Being a teen is _difficult_.

Upon the fifth or so time Tsuna feels eyes fall on him, he braces himself. It's odd, this anticipation and nervousness he usually felt at the beginning of spars and battles being directed in this setting. But it's fitting.

 _Small steps,_ he thinks to himself, then turns to lock gazes with a startled Hana. Before she can look away, he smiles, then turns to Kyoko and waves. The two girls blink.

He turns back around and feigns attention to the lecture, feeling a surprisingly proud sense of accomplishment for an action so minor.

… Until a thought, sounding suspiciously like Reborn echoes, _"good job, you've mastered the Mafia Seduction,"_ and his face promptly meets the flat of his desk with a groan of ill-concealed horror. He ignores the annoyed shout of the teacher.

(He had found it weird before, when he truly thought Reborn was but a one-year-old baby. But when he had found out that, no, that was not the case, and realized that a _fifty-some-odd-year-old man had used "Mafia Seduction" on middle schoolers_ , Tsuna had been _horrified_.

Reborn, apparently, hadn't understood the full weight of what he had done, and was puzzled over Tsuna's resulting aversion to him, which eventually led to something of a cold war between the two. But by then, Tsuna was already Vongola's boss, and had learned much of what Reborn had to offer. That had been Tsuna's first technical "win" over his once tutor, and it was not something he would ever forget—even though the man threatened death if he ever mentioned to anyone that it was _Reborn_ to take the first step towards reconciliation with a stuffy apology.)

Tsuna laughs at his errant thoughts, and only smiles when the teacher sends him outside as punishment.

* * *

"Giglio Nero, Milan. Cavallone, Florence. Gesso future, Catanzaro. European Vendicare Branch…"

Tsuna murmurs to himself as he jots down the locations by memory in his notebook, history textbook open to the world map and riddled with arrows and bullet points in an array of languages.

He can't remember where the original location of the Gesso base is. He had expected as much, but still, it's more than a little annoying realizing that he had forgotten something that ended up being crucial. Byakuran, after the fight with the Vindice had just _decided_ that he wanted to be closer to Vongola, not only politically but _physically_. (That doesn't help Tsuna at all right now, since none of that has happened yet and he would really like to find the man. Boy. He's a boy right now.)

There are things Tsuna needs to do as soon as he can. Aside from trying to find Kawahira and Aria for answers, he needs to ensure that he manages to accomplish what he did in the past—gain Mukuro as an ally, stop Byakuran from his destructive path, gain Xanxus' trust and play mediator between him and Nono.

"Simon, Catania," Tsuna says as he notes that down as well. Simon is another issue he will have to deal with, but he knows that Enma and his guardians are in Japan at Simon Middle, and that particular conflict doesn't happen for a while. If he plays his cards right, he can befriend them and _not_ have to deal with a feud between Vongola and Simon, maybe even convince the Vindice to help clear the air, so Tsuna puts that as low-priority for now.

Daemon is another issue, connected with Simon. But Tsuna would like to be in as control of the situation as possible, so having a flame conduit in hand to battle the antagonistic mist-user would be nice. _Again, not an issue for a while, so I can put it off until later in favor of more pressing matters._

Varia would have to wait, unfortunately. Tsuna's trip to Italy will not bring him anywhere _near_ the Varia base in Sicily, and getting involved with Vongola before Reborn is actually sent to "train" him isn't exactly wise.

Tsuna allows his hand to still, and leans into the tree behind him, tilting his head up and closing his eyes. _Vongola. Talbot._

He… Doesn't actually know how that is going to work. Him telling Talbot the basics of what he knew of the solution to the Arcobaleno curse in the future was mostly a gamble on hoping that, with the right prodding, Talbot would come up with the same solution sooner. That isn't even counting the fact that _he_ will have to somehow convince the Vindice to place their trust in him, when he's just some civilian boy who doesn't have any physical proof of his plans and won't even be able to use Talbot's name because of privacy.

On the other hands, if things turn out as he hopes, the Vindice will accept and Talbot will find the solution, and then it would just be a matter of gathering the Arcobaleno. Despite being who they are, the Arcobaleno are much easier to contact than Kawahira. And with someone tampering with the Tri-Ni-Sette, Kawahira making an appearance is an inevitability. It will be at that point, if not sooner, that Tsuna will try to find some answers from the man.

 _Everything is hinging on nothing but a series of gambles, and it's terrifyingly inadequate._ Tsuna lets his head loll forward as he rubs the bridge of his nose. _But that's later on down the line. For now, my "school trip."_

Fly to Milan, try to talk to Aria and find some answers. Tentatively look for Kawahira if there is time (since the man could literally be _anywhere_ at the moment). Travel to European Vendicare where Mukuro, Ken, M.M., and Chikusa are locked up. Try to negotiate with the Vindice. Try to convince Mukuro and his cohorts to actually go to Japan with Tsuna with minimal damage.

Frankly, Tsuna is looking forward to traversing the _Italian Alps_ to get to the Vendicare prison about as much as he has ever looked forward to being shot in the foot. Especially since it's been a good, long while since he's gone—his memory on the _exact_ location is not the best, and he'd really rather not be spending hour flying haphazardly with his unstable flames in the snow.

(If he even _can_ fly. That actually isn't something he's tested out yet, and considering his situation, he figures it might be a better idea to not test it in the middle of treacherous territory.)

Whatever happens, he'd rather not wait for Mukuro to attack Namimori, giving the Vindice that last incentive to dump Mukuro in that water prison. He might be able to negotiate now, but once Mukuro takes that final step, Tsuna most likely won't be able to bargain for his freedom until he officially takes up the mantle as Vongola Decimo.

After that, after hopefully finding some answers from Aria and convincing Mukuro to come with him at least somewhat peacefully, it would be back to Japan.

Tsuna closes his notebook and textbook, absentmindedly placing them in his bag as he thinks. _If everything works out smoothly, then I could try to figure out everything else from there. I still need to try to find Chrome, Nagi, hopefully in time to prevent her accident. Search for Kawahira some more, though he probably isn't even in Japan right now. Try to convince Mukuro that I don't have some nefarious plans for him and his friends. Work on befriending my guardians. Train more. Prepare for Reborn's arrival._

His brow furrows at that last though. _I still haven't decided what I'm going to do about Rebor—_

Tsuna's intuition spikes and he abruptly ducks his head, feeling the brush of cold steel sting his neck.

He follows through the motion with his hand pushing off of the tree, dodging another attack, and lands on his feet just as he sees Kyōya aiming a tonfa in his direction with murder written on his face.

Tsuna twists away to the side, letting his hand meet the crook of the prefect's arm and _yanking,_ knocking his balance off-kilter. But Kyōya recovers, ducking low instead of forward and makes a sweeping kick outward, catching Tsuna unawares.

He spins on his heel with his right hand by his side, tonfa gleaming, and Tsuna just barely manages to catch the weapon (his hand stings at the impact) before it makes contact with his stomach. But then the other swings around and knocks him on the side of the head, causing the world to tilt and pain to blossom.

Tsuna _grins_.

He grabs the weapon closest to his head and pulls it towards him, kicking a knee upwards into his opponent's diaphragm and following with a downwards jab. It grazes Kyōya's ear as he yanks his tonfa away, swinging around with his left and slamming the weapon into Tsuna's ribcage.

Kyōya follows up with another attack, this time with his right tonfa aimed at Tsuna's face, but Tsuna deflects the attack to the side while simultaneously yanking the weapon out of his opponent's grip.

He lunges forward, startling Kyōya, and grabs the remaining tonfa with his left hand and crosses his right over to grab the other boy's shoulder, then _twists_ in the opposite direction, reorienting his opponent's ground with the sky. He spins around with the momentum and kicks, his shin meeting metal with a painful but dull crack that sends him stumbling backwards and Kyōya several meters back, tumbling along the dirt.

Tsuna takes a moment to check his shin—sore, and will definitely bruise from that deflection, but not broken—and his head—his ears ringing, but no concussion surprisingly—then grins across the field at Kyōya, who hasn't weathered as many attacks as he has, but still looks a far cry from pristine.

"Hello to you too," Tsuna laughs, smiling—he really, _really_ enjoys his spars with Kyōya honestly, and even though this was entirely uncalled for and unsanctioned it was still a pleasant break from everything else—as he approaches the prefect. "That was a good, if brief spar. Mind telling me why I didn't even get a warning this time, though?"

His smile falters, however, when he sees the boy's pinched face and irritated glare. For a long, puzzling moment, Tsuna doesn't understand the reason for his friend's ire. _Why? Kyōya always liked having spars, he_ liked _fighting as long as it wasn't in retribution because then that was just stress relief, this isn't—_

Tsuna's eyes widen in realization. Oh. Of course, _that_ Kyōya was more secure in his skin, and not quite as quick to join a fight or assert dominance. He saw Tsuna as an equal, understood that they were not in the same "realm" and operated differently—but _this_ Kyōya doesn't. Tsuna had thought that, maybe, he did, but more than likely… He is frustrated that he is not winning, not prevailing, and that each of their spars has ended in a draw.

And while Tsuna isn't quite physically at the point where he can take Kyōya, mentally he can, mentally he can _overpower_ Kyōya, and that's something the prefect likely sees.

Kyōya has been trying to prove himself, and Tsuna has been—all this time, he's been— _enjoying_ himself, as though he were sparring with one of his guardians and not a younger, more foolhardy version of them. Hell, he _laughed_!

Tsuna freezes as a horrible, terrifying thought occurs to him. _Oh. Oh,_ god _no, I'm not—I am_ not _, no way, I am_ not _going to be—I_ refuse _to take on Mukuro's role this time!_ He chances a (slightly panicked) look at Kyōya; he doesn't look too irritated, not as much as he often looked when dealing with _Mukuro_ , but the irritation is still there.

 _Mukuro, you're like a brother to me—an intrusive, socially awkward and downright creepy brother—but I am not about to start "kufufu"-ing and grinning while goading Kyōya into rage-induced rampages. That's_ your _job._

He has a few breathless moments to imagine a horrific future in which Kyōya's ire that was once reserved for Mukuro is directed at him, instead, and the even _more_ numerous damages that follow.

But suddenly, thankfully, Kyōya's expressions eases as he nods to himself. Or maybe it's acceptance to the conclusion of the spar.

(Tsuna can't quite tell. He hadn't realized how much Kyōya had changed, but he supposes it would make sense—a lot can change from the young teenage years to adulthood.)

He holds Tsuna's gaze for a few moments, expression unreadable, before turning to pick up his discarded tonfa. And then he walks off without so much as a goodbye.

Tsuna sighs as he walks back to the tree he had been sitting under and leans, cradling his side. He hadn't broken any ribs, but he is definitely going to bruise something terrible if he doesn't try to heal himself. Which, after a moment of consideration regarding what his weekend is going to look like, he does.

He cuts off his flames after a mere moment of using them, however. He forgets where he is sometimes, and he knows that healing himself in public, in his school's courtyard, isn't something he wants to do, even if the only people he can see are small figures in view.

The warning bell chimes, signaling the end of the lunch break. Tsuna looks down at his bag with a grimace, mentally noting that he still has a few classes to attend before his day is over. He only spends about a second of thought before he decides that he doesn't feel like walking back to class to sit in on a lecture he doesn't need.

(It's Kyōya's fault, anyway—they weren't supposed to spar during school hours. The Namimori prefect broke his own rules.)

As Tsuna sits back down by his materials he stares up at the sky through the leaves, exhaustion washing over him. He sighs as his eyelids grow heavy.

* * *

Something feeling suspiciously like a shoe is shoved in his side, and even with his eyes closed, he scowls at the sensation.

"Oi. You'd better wake up before the demon finds you here."

Tsuna groans as he sits up, directing a glare at the unidentified jerk that woke him up while he's at it. "The _demon_ is the one who left me here in the first place."

He blinks at the hand that is shoved in his face, and slowly his eyes trail up the arm to a familiar face. "… Oh. Hi Kensuke."

Kensuke hoists him up when he grabs the offered hand, frowning. "He just left you here?"

Tsuna rubs the sleep from his eyes, distantly noting the odd quality in the boy's tone. "Mm. We spar every other day now."

When Kensuke freezes, Tsuna looks at him questioningly.

"… Since the challenge?"

Tsuna nods.

"That was _four days ago_."

Tsuna blinks, then nods again. "I guess so."

Kensuke outright stares at him. "You've gotten into two other fights, not including the very first one where we were running for our lives, and you _survived?_ "

"Spars, not fights, and it's not like I get away unscathed," Tsuna corrects, clutching at his side. After a moment, "… And Hibari-san isn't an actual demon. He just needs an outlet to vent his frustrations."

"… Frustrations. As in, when people break the rules?"

Tsuna ignores the twist to Kensuke's mouth and shrugs. "Among other things I'd imagine." He stifles a smile at Kensuke's horrified gape. "He isn't the type to stay in one place for an extended period of time. Hibari-san needs constant motion, otherwise he… Stagnates. Grows uncomfortable. Containment isn't his style, and he does as he pleases—which happens to include defending the peace of Namimori and finding suitable 'prey' to fight. Or, as he puts it, 'bite to death.'"

This time, he doesn't hide his smile as Kensuke lets out a strained sigh. "Oh… Oh. Um, okay." And then Kensuke focuses a narrow gaze on Tsuna. "… How do you know that, though? Did he tell you?"

"I doubt Hibari-san would tell a near-stranger his habits, so no. Those are just my observations."

Kensuke stares at Tsuna for a moment before sighing exasperatedly. "You… You are _really_ weird."

"My _family_ is weird."

… Tsuna hadn't meant to say that out loud.

But Kensuke only glances at him and nods along, apparently unsure how to reply or just accepting of the odd response. "So… Are you okay? Do you, uh, need me to take you to the hospital? Or something?"

Tsuna shakes his head as he picks up his back. "No, but thanks for offering. I'm just going to go home." He pauses at Kensuke's hesitant look. "… Kensuke? Was there something else you needed?"

And then he's jabbed in the ribs by a finger. _Harshly_.

" _Shit_!" Tsuna yelps in Italian, clutching his still slightly sore ribs with a hiss. He could have dodged that, but it wasn't something _life-threatening_ so, well, he didn't. He turns a skeptical, slightly betrayed look on Kensuke. "What was _that_ for?"

(Distantly he realizes that he is overreacting considering that he has experienced worse, _much_ worse, but still. That wasn't very nice.)

Kensuke stares at him for a long, still moment before shrugging, clearly unrepentant. "… Nothing. Was just feeling like a little revenge, I guess." And then, quieter, "and to check something."

Tsuna stares at him.

Kensuke shoves his hands in his pockets. "Anyway, if you don't need help then I'll see you later. Bye." And then he walks off.

Tsuna spends only a brief moment watching him walk away before turning away with a shake of his head, heavy sigh escaping him.

"… My family is weird," he mumbles to himself.

* * *

Takeshi is still packing up his bag when he looks out of the window and sees Tsuna by the school's entrance.

Unexpectedly, worry curls in his gut when he sees the disheveled look to the boy and the way he favors his right leg slightly. It's slight, but a noticeable limp anyway.

Takeshi frowns to himself, quickly slinging his bag over his shoulder and hurrying out of the classroom. He wonders if Tsuna is okay.

However, just as he reaches the hallway he stops, frown deepening as he contemplates this odd… Feeling, he gets about Tsuna.

If he's being honest, Tsuna has always piqued his interest, if only because the boy never seemed all that phased by everyone's teasing aside from minor grumbling. He was also pretty much always on his own, which made it pretty easy for him to stand out. Everyone had at least _one_ friend, but Tsuna was always on his own, as far as Takeshi can remember, so that had always been a point of interest for him, who was pretty much never alone.

But there's something else, now, something that makes Takeshi itch to talk to him that wasn't there before.

It's strange, considering the first time the two of them even spoke anything to each other beyond simple greetings was _this morning_ , but even then, Takeshi had found himself really enjoying that brief exchange.

In a word… Tsuna's _fun_. It's an easy enough conclusion to come to for Takeshi, and he honestly wonders why no one has ever bothered to try talking to the boy before. He genuinely feels happy being in the other's presence, a kind that he's only ever felt from, well, his dad, when he thinks about it. Even his friends don't really inspire that same sort of feeling, which puzzles him.

(It's a feeling of freedom, of unconditional acceptance. Yamamoto Tsuyoshi loves and wants the best for his son, had even given up his previous career to ensure his safety and wellbeing. Sawada Tsunayoshi loves his Rain Guardian and irreplaceable friends because they were and are _family_ , even if he doesn't know this himself.

It's a lack of dependence or separation through dehumanizing idolization, the kind that he feels from his baseball team or the kind he feels from his fans in school. It's an unshakeable bond that, even if it hasn't happened yet, Takeshi can _sense_ with his innate instinct, and understands.

Not that he's consciously aware of this, however.)

When Takeshi reaches the school gates, he looks around but finds no trace of Tsuna. It isn't surprising since he had gotten a bit distracted on the way, but he still frowns when he realizes that the boy has already left.

Something tells him that Tsuna will be fine, however. Even if he looked injured, another feeling that had surfaced recently was that there was more to Tsuna than he originally thought—something hard to place, but independent, and strong.

After a moment of brief contemplation, Takeshi turns towards the baseball field with his shoulders relaxed and worry eased.

 _Oh well_ , he thinks, _I'll see him again on Monday, and hopefully his injuries will be healed by then. Sawada will be fine._

He smiles as a thought comes to mind.

 _I wonder if he'll let me eat lunch with him?_

* * *

Tsuna comes home to eat a quick meal with his mother and grab the luggage he had packed the previous night. He makes sure he's prepared, says goodbye, and departs an hour later.

An hour after _that_ , Sawada Iemitsu comes home for a surprise visit.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N : I kept dithering about this chapter. Didn't turn out nearly as well as I had hoped, but I know it isn't going to get any better without months of inactivity as a break from this story... which would suck. So take this thing and I'll get around to making it not-as-Basic at some point in the future. Word count is ~7.4k.**

* * *

 _"... I'm sorry."_

" _It's all right. I hold no ill-will towards you for this. You're doing what you have to."_

" _No, I—"_

" _Please, Yuni, don't. I don't want you involved, you may have some of your memories but you are not even_ ten _. If anything were to happen to you, the resulting fall-out would not be pleasant. And I don't just mean Byakuran."_

 _She doesn't laugh, doesn't even smile._

" _Then you've given up?"_

" _... No. No, I haven't. But even your prescience can't tell what the future holds, and that in itself is an ominous sign concerning your safety."_

" _What of Simon? And Cavallone?"_

" _I don't know yet."_

" _Will you drive them away, or will you wait for them to give their own apologies?"_

 _He gives a wry smile. "This isn't anything directed at you or your mother. But I know that they won't. They will refuse if I try to drive them away. I have been through too much to not know that I am stronger with my allies at my side, and it would be foolish for me to even attempt alienating them."_

" _... I'm worried about Byakuran."_

" _The Gesso family will only involve itself for as long as the Giglio Nero is involved."_

" _You know that's not what I mean."_

 _Her eyes are a deep, ocean blue, and hold far more sorrow and understanding than they should. He shakes his head._

" _I don't claim to know what goes through his mind. I'm sorry Yuni, but I should get back to work as soon as possible."_

 _She opens her mouth to speak, but stops, letting the words die on her tongue._

" _... All right. Again, I'm sorry that this has happened. But if there is anything else we, I, can do, do not hesitate to ask."_

 _The door shuts behind her._

" _... To think, just a year ago, the future had looked so bright," he muses in the resulting silence. "Changing the mafia was more than just the flighty dream of a child, and Vongola had many supporters from large and small famiglia alike."_

 _He leans back into the sofa, eyes glowing a somber orange as he stares at the ceiling._

" _... How did everything fall apart so easily?"_

* * *

Tsuna touches down in Milan, Italy, when the sky is painted dark purples and blues.

As he navigates his way through the airport his Italian rolls off the tongue easily enough—at the very least, easier than when he had spoken to Talbot. He hovers around baggage claim for several minutes until he sees the larger of the two duffel bags he brought, and heads over to the currency exchange. He uses a small trickle of Mist flames to feign his papers and by the time he leaves the airport in search of a cheap hotel for his temporary stay, it is well into the evening.

He does eventually find a reasonably priced location, booking a hotel double to leave his belongings. In the room, he takes note of his two duffel bags, briefly mourns the fact that he doesn't have anything more formal to wear for this visit, and walks out.

* * *

Finding the Giglio Nero mansion is not difficult for Tsuna, as he has visited the location often enough.

Figuring out how to get in without starting a small war is another thing altogether.

Tsuna does manage eventually, however—he decides to take a page from his younger self's book and quite literally _stumbles_ into the clearing, quickly gaining the suspicious but not-yet-hostile attention of the local guards.

When they ask for him to state his name, business, and affiliation, he doesn't put forth a false stutter and answers as earnestly as he can. He is Tsunayoshi, he wishes to speak to the Giglio Nero boss, and he isn't affiliated with anyone. He just wants to talk.

 _Aim for underestimated, but don't overdo it_ , he figures. He isn't here as an enemy, and behaving fully as the thirteen-year-old he appears will only net the suspicion of Aria, especially considering her status as the Sky Arcobaleno. He doesn't hope to fool her, doesn't wish to, so going to lengths to make her underestimate him to that extent is unneeded.

He gains some still-suspicious glances but it's clear that the lower-stationed members don't think much of him. He is escorted to a private room by two men dressed in suits (who toss the occasional glance his way, both watchful and aiming to intimidate) and is told to wait for the Nono's answer.

" _She is busy,_ " they say, " _she doesn't have time to babysit a brat._ " But they brought him in anyway, so Tsuna settles into the small but lavish room that isn't quite an office nor a meeting room, but something in-between. He notes the decor, the varnished table, and the plush seats.

There's nothing _extravagant_ , nothing arrogantly ostentatious, but it still speaks of the Giglio Nero's fortune and taste.

Despite what he was told, it is barely twenty minutes when two firm raps in succession precede the telling click of the door being opened, and Tsuna's minute twitch isn't entirely an act. He turns to watch the woman who enters the room without so much as a single bodyguard with her.

" _Greetings._ " She smiles, calm and placid, as she takes her seat. " _I am Aria, Giglio Nero Nono. May I ask, who am I addressing?_ "

Tsuna can hear the politely inquiring yet careful tone. "Tsunayoshi _, Nono. But 'Tsuna' will do._ "

Her eyes sharpen for the briefest moments before easing back into serene blue.

 _Well_ , he thinks wryly, _that was quick._ He didn't expect any less, really, but to already deduce that he has something to hide just from him withholding his family name…

… Actually, that's pretty justified. That's what he had been angling for—not-so-subtly declaring that he isn't just some teen that wandered into her territory by hiding his surname—but where some people may believe it to be a bluff from a kid trying to get recognition, most bosses worth their mettle would still take the necessary precautions regarding the unknown.

So… Not actually surprising.

They exchange a few more light words, loosely inquiring on Aria's side, concealed on Tsuna's as he tries to fully place her mannerisms. She is amicable with him, perhaps slightly underestimating still, but that doesn't explain why she is as open and casual as she is.

Suspicious and careful, yes, but still with an air of calm that is genuine and relaxed.

Though he may not have known the woman all that well in his own time, he knows that she was a powerful boss, knows the sort of strength and care needed to maintain a position (the many positions) she is in without faltering. She was a woman who knew the importance of not underestimating others based on appearance, and had her prescience to back her, so her mostly at ease calm with him currently is puzzling.

He considers that she may already know who he is and the future he is to bring, depending on what she's seen.

" _I'm in need of your assistance,_ " he says eventually, straight to the point.

Aria's sharp smile falls away and the previously amicable air is replaced by one more serious.

Well, that answers that—she likely thought him manipulated into coming here, and knowing his involvement she thought to be kind to a child that doesn't know the sky from the ground beneath his feet. At best, she knows that he is tied in with many futures, but doesn't know—hadn't known, at least—that he is more than he appears, even now.

" _My assistance,_ " is the simple reply.

The composure that Tsuna has gained from years of leading Vongola comes to him easily. " _Yes. You have an advantage that most do not, and I would appreciate your assistance in determining a few circumstances._ "

Despite this, she remains unmoved. " _There are many who have asked for my assistance, Tsunayoshi. There are few amongst those many that I have actually aided. My ability is not a gift, not something to be exploited, but a consolatory prize whose use should be carefully monitored and held closely._ " A pause. " _There aren't many outside of my famiglia and comrades that know of this._ "

Her tone is bland and her demeanor closed off, but she doesn't call for her men. A plus.

Tsuna decides to take the gamble.

" _You know who I am, don't you?_ " His hands tighten in their grip from where they sit on his lap before he forcefully loosens them. " _You know who I am, and you know my future, don't you?_ "

Aria doesn't reply, her face an expressionless mask.

Tsuna leans forward. " _There aren't many outside of your famiglia and the Arcobaleno that know of your prescience, yes. But there are none who are willing or capable of promising you the safety and freedom of your future daughter._ "

The atmosphere turns glacial.

Aria levels a weighted gaze on him, gaining an orange glow around her pupils as she seems to search, stare into his soul. Tsuna holds her gaze with a firm one of his own, refusing to be cowed.

Something shifts, and she blinks, cold, challenging fury gone and replaced with something tired, resigned. She casts a distant gaze to the varnished wood of the table as she holds her hand to her chest.

" _... I see._ "

A beat of silence passes.

" _... My…_ Vision _, is not as powerful as my mother's was, or as my daughter's will be, but I can still see glimpses._ "

Her hand drops to rest on her lap. " _I can see that you, Sawada Tsunayoshi, are not as you are supposed to be. There is a distortion surrounding you, from another plane of existence, that prevents me from seeing anything._ "

Tsuna goes rigid. " _Prevents you from seeing anything,_ " he whispers, " _there's nothing? You—you can't see_ anything _? What about—_ "

He bites back his words, swallows down the lump in his throat. " _... What do you mean, exactly?_ "

" _I can usually see glimpses of the future, depending on the level of importance to my comrades and famiglia. Regarding the people that are involved, per se. You are definitely involved, at the center of everything one could say, but there's… Something, that prevents me from actually seeing you directly._ "

A flicker of sympathy flits through her expression before it's gone. " _I cannot see your future, Tsunayoshi._ "

Tsuna slumps back against his chair, boneless, as the small hope he had proved pointless. This… _Sucks_ , in a word. _Devastating_ in another. He had hoped that he could find answers, but it seems he's out of luck here.

He quietly resigns himself to the fact that Aria can't help him find the answers he seeks through her prescience, and that he probably won't get answers any time soon.

But.

" _Do you know how to… Do you know the whereabouts of the man in the iron hat?_ " Aria's expression shutters. " _And have you heard of the Gesso Famiglia?_ "

" _... I don't know his whereabouts. He appeared to give me the Sky pacifier and I haven't seen him since. As for the Gesso Famiglia, it doesn't—_ "

" _What about_ 'Kawahira' _? Does that name sound familiar?_ "

If Aria is offended by the interruption, she doesn't display it. She shakes her head. " _I haven't heard the name_ 'Kawahira' _, and the Gesso Famiglia is not one I am familiar with, I'm afraid._ "

She's not lying.

Tsuna fights back the frustration welling within him at the fact that she doesn't know. He found nothing, then. Nothing on his future that he came from, and nothing on Kawahira's or Byakuran's whereabouts—the only two left who might have been or be able to find Tsuna answers.

His hands clench and unclench underneath the table. _I found nothing._

He pushes his chair back, prepared to leave, but Aria lifts a hand in a silent request. " _Wait. I can't see your future, but… Ever since a few months ago, I have been able to see a future different from the ones I've seen before._ "

" _I've seen my daughter, alive, free from the curse that has weighed heavily on myself and my predecessors. Yuni is happy in these visions._ " Aria smiles, a small, grateful thing. " _And even though I couldn't see you before, I know that you were there._ "

Tsuna knows what this is—she is trying to assure him that whatever it is that he fears won't come to pass. It's appreciated, but unnecessary, and he shakes his head.

" _The safety of your daughter, who is amongst the people I promised to protect, was never a question. I will resolve that damned curse and I will ensure that the mafia changes._ " His finger taps at his thigh. " _It was just… A selfish curiosity that I wanted to check. But it's impossible, anyway._ "

Aria's expression turns apologetic. He only shakes his head—he doesn't want or need an apology, and it isn't her "fault" to begin with.

With nothing left to discuss, she leads him back through the mansion and to the foyer. She gives him a rueful smile as she turns to him, and speaks.

" _I apologize that I wasn't able to help you._ "

Tsuna takes a moment of surprise at the honest remorse in her tone and expression. " _... It's all right. There's no reason for you to go such lengths for someone you only just met, and even then, you can't see what you can't see. It isn't your fault._ "

Aria's eyes glint with a hard edge. " _You underestimate my willpower, Sawada Tsunayoshi. You all but promised to relinquish my line, my_ daughter _from this damning curse that my family has suffered for generations. It's always been impossible to imagine, but I've seen flashes of the future and know that it is fact, not fiction._ "

She extends her hand and smiles. " _I was wary about just what sort of person it would take to bring about such a future and didn't know your exact involvement with the curse, but now, after meeting you, I can rest at ease. Know that once you inherit the Vongola name, the Giglio Nero will be the first to extend a hand of friendship to the Decimo._ "

Tsuna lets out a startled laugh even as he meets her for a firm handshake, a bit surprised that she had realized who he is. He really shouldn't be; she has her prescience and it takes a certain mettle to not only be a _Donna_ but to be a mother and the Sky Arcobaleno simultaneously.

He never really had the chance to meet with her in his future-past all that often, and he suddenly regrets that very much.

" _Thank you, Nono. I'll keep that in mind._ "

Her smile softens ever so slightly. " _Would you like us to look into this 'Gesso' group?_ "

Tsuna blinks. " _Ah. Well, yes, if it isn't too much trouble._ "

" _It's no trouble at all._ " A look of consternation crosses her face. " _In fact, it's better to have knowledge of someone who may grow to be a threat than to turn a blind eye and not realize until it is too late._ "

Tsuna doesn't know if that's her prescience speaking or what she's gathered from their brief conversation, but she isn't wrong.

" _Is there some way to contact you personally?_ " Aria asks, tone light. " _I know that the Vongola Nono has not officially announced his heir, so I doubt that going through the normal channels would be wise. The Giglio Nero and Vongola may be on good terms, but not enough to excuse us knowing about their unannounced heir—not without my revealing the full extent of my ability, which is something I'd rather not do."_

Tsuna nods once. No one worth their mettle in their world would very enthusiastic about revealing all their cards.

" _About that… They don't know I'm here. They don't know that I know about Vongola, or the mafia, for that matter._ " He gives a casual shrug. " _My father is convinced that I'm living at home with my mother in Japan as an ignorant civilian._ "

The only outward sign of Aria's surprise is a slight widening of her eyes, but even that is brief.

They converse a bit more before eventually saying their goodbyes, and by the time Tsuna leaves (two hours after his initial arrival he notes), it's with the knowledge that he has somehow secured the trust of Aria and the Giglio Nero on his first meeting.

Tsuna would question this and how it's even possible, if it weren't for the earnest gratitude he could see in her eyes as she spoke.

He wants to say that he doesn't deserve it. But it's obvious that whatever her prescience allowed her, it had something positive to do with him. And even his more self-deprecating thoughts can't ignore the pain Aria has experienced or the subsequent relief at finding out that her family's future is not something to fear.

In the face of someone who would ensure the definite safety and happiness of any one of the people Tsuna loves, he would be filled with gratitude and some level of unconditional trust, as well.

* * *

Tsuna swears a line when he slips down another particularly uneven patch of ground for the sixteenth time.

At this point, he doesn't even know for certain what languages he's swearing in. He's fairly certain he's abandoned Japanese entirely and gone for his extensive offensive vocabulary in Italian, French, and German (all courtesy of Hayato and the Varia) the multiple times he's ended up with more snow and gravel in his boots.

To say that he's "annoyed" that he has to actually _wander the Alps_ because he technically isn't Vongola right now and therefore can't use any of the other means to contact the Vindice is an understatement. He settles on _distinctly pissed_ by the time he has the privilege of his face becoming acquainted with uneven ground and rocks for the seventeenth time.

He had gone back to the hotel to nap and grab his larger duffel bag full of necessities, too, so he's carrying about ten or fifteen kilograms of extra weight which really doesn't help.

Despite knowing what he's here for and having a fairly good idea of where the Vendicare prison is all things considered, he still feels like an absolute _idiot_ , stumbling around in the snow with his flames acting as malfunctioning rocket jets.

He'd decided early on that, yes, attempting to use his flames for flight when he doesn't have his gloves or any form of conductor was too risky, especially when the territory is already pretty treacherous as it is. He still broke down and decided to use his flames occasionally anyway, to search over particularly high crests and get a good idea of where he is. He's lucky that the skies are clear and the sun is high.

It's not like Tsuna hasn't traveled this way before, though. The first couple of times he had visited the Vendicare, Reborn had forced him and his guardians to take this route (as was typical of the slave-driver). It wasn't until they visited the third time and were about to head back that Reborn oh-so-helpfully divulged that yes, there are secret passages and other, more reasonable ways to reach the Vendicare, never mind even the fact that Bermuda had sent a notice (which Reborn intercepted) that Tsuna was allowed to call on them when needed.

(At least Reborn hadn't waited until they got back to tell them. Tsuna supposes he wasn't feeling as sadistic as he usually was, that day. Still a jerk-move on his part in his opinion, though.)

Tsuna does eventually reach his destination. As he crests one of the smaller surrounding peaks with a boost from his flame, he spots the familiar sight of stone and ancient architecture buried beneath snow. He takes a breath as his grip on his bag tightens and he lets his flames propel him the last stretch of the distance.

The Vindice may be those who maintain the laws of the mafia—they are the gatekeepers between the underworld and the rest, some comment—but to say that they _are_ mafia is false.

They interfere when their rules are broken and no more; Bermuda has and never will care about the politics of famiglia or the courtesies given outside of what is necessary. The Vindice are an independent organization not only self-isolated from the mafia, but the world, and the subtle posturing used elsewhere will get Tsuna nowhere.

Tsuna doesn't bother with subtlety like he did at the Giglio Nero mansion.

He lands at the entrance with a whoosh of air, his feet digging into the snow as he slides forward in an effort to slow down his momentum. He stops at the gates, and forces himself not to react when the air shifts and bends around him not even a second later.

Black flames twist into existence midair, expanding like the gaping maws of dread creatures surrounding him, and Tsuna watches as the familiar sight of the Vindice materialize from the flames. The hissing crackle of flame and the grating clatter of rusted chains fill the air.

" _What is the meaning of this?_ " A bandaged figure rasps, voice toneless. " _Who are you, who walks into our territory with such displays?_ "

Tsuna straightens as he stares ahead. " _I am Sawada Tsunayoshi, and I request audience with Bermuda. There are matters I intend to discuss with him regarding a group of prisoners you hold here._ "

There is no incredulity that he, an apparent child, stands in the middle of the Alps before the Vendicare prison all but demanding audience with their leader. Then again, the Vindice are one of few that would have a personal understanding that appearances mean little.

The Vindice remain a tense wall between him and the entrance for what feels like minutes before all but two step back into burning black flame. Without a word or gesture, the two wraith-like figures turn and ascend the steps as the heavy gate opens.

Tsuna follows quickly, muttering an aggravated line that actually has one of his bandaged escorts pausing for a moment when he stumbles.

He's led through a series of twisting hallways with stone walls and arched ceilings, flickering torchlights being the only sources of light. Their steps echo in the silence, and Tsuna would think the overall unwelcoming atmosphere was on purpose were it not for him knowing that this was just how the Vindice _lived_. (Or existed, rather.)

There is no grand hall or room where he finds Bermuda sitting atop a throne. Tsuna is led to a quiet junction of the facility that opens up into rows of empty prisons, and in the surrounding space stand a handful of unidentified Vindice, while in the center stands Jager, whose shoulder is occupied by the uncontested leader of the mafia's police.

There's a low-lying mist in the room and, again, if Tsuna didn't already know that it wasn't intentional (and instead caused by the altitude), he would think these details contributing to the eerie atmosphere were on purpose.

Tsuna steps forward into the room as the two Vindice guards hang back, shifting to block the exit.

There is no greeting, no acknowledgement of his presence. Bermuda stands from his perch on Jager's shoulder, both unmoving and unreadable. Tsuna takes a breath, and speaks.

" _Bermuda von Veckenschtein. I request to have the prisoners known as Mukuro Rokudo, Ken Joshima, Chikusa Kakimoto, and M.M. released to me._ "

A beat of silence, and Tsuna keeps his expression flat as he makes eye contact with Bermuda's right hand.

"... _And why should we?_ " Bermuda's voice in this form is high-pitched like a child's but _wrong_ , grating and cloaked with death.

" _I know that you know the Sawada name_ ," Tsuna says evenly, forcing his posture to relax in the face of the unmoving Vindice. " _I am not yet the Decimo, haven't even begun my training yet, but I know that I have been chosen as a candidate to be Don of Vongola. It's a matter of me proving myself and becoming a worthy scion. I intend to help the Vindice with a problem that has been going on for nearly two centuries._ "

That within itself isn't sufficient reason, and after a glance at the others standing silent vigilance, he continues. " _... Daemon Spade. He is a problem that I know you have had issues with for years. It's not yet my problem, it's not something I'm 'allowed' to interfere with yet since I am not yet acknowledged as Vongola, but I intend to handle that situation._ "

None of the Vindice show any outward sign of surprise or _anything_ , which, while more or less expected, is still unnerving. Bermuda's inflection doesn't change when he asks a simple, " _Why?_ "

A single word, but a world of challenge in it. " _Daemon is Vongola's problem, so he should be handled accordingly_ ," Tsuna says.

" _You are a mere civilian child._ "

" _I know, but I won't always be_ ," Tsuna replies. " _I will be Vongola Decimo, and I will shoulder that responsibility along with being Mukuro Rokudo's and the others' benefactor. Daemon Spade has been a persistent issue for years, and his threat will only grow the longer we wait._ "

That gets a reaction. Even through the bandages, Tsuna can feel the Vindice leader's eyes sharpen. " _You are presumptuous to think that you will become Decimo, to think that we will go along with your whims. Daemon Spade_ has _been an issue for many years, and you think I will agree to handing over the responsibility to someone uninvolved? Your offer is an insult based on ignorance, and nothing more._ "

… _Oh,_ Tsuna thinks in the following silence, withholding the urge to rub his temples or alternatively slam his face into a wall. _I think I just fucked up._

He hadn't meant to insult Bermuda. But he had forgotten that he and his cohorts were so _petty_ with their pride that, in the past, they had settled for taking over the task of watching the pacifiers _just_ so they could claim that over Kawahira. Saying that he would not only claim the seat of Vongola Decimo but take on the "responsibility" of handling Daemon isn't something honorable in their eyes, or even acceptable, but an _insult_.

Again, even though he _knows_ he isn't, he has subconsciously been acting as Decimo. Coming from the Decimo is one thing, but from some unknown civilian? And the Vindice have their own code of rules and base courtesies that make them more dangerous to anger than any mafia don.

Bermuda's words have been nothing but tests, phrases worded in a way that would help him judge just who it is that he is dealing with and how much the other party knows. As far as he knows, Tsuna is just some uppity civilian child that has vague notions based on information he has been fed. He has a blood privilege, and is quickly becoming a nuisance.

But Tsuna doesn't have the time to devote to gaining Bermuda's approval and trust. He messed up, and he can't just sit back and wait to prove himself to them—he needs to have their promise _now_. He can't make a trip back to Italy after Reborn arrives, and there's no way for him to contact the Vindice without raising suspicion, unlike he did with Talbot.

… Tsuna doesn't have the time for this. He hadn't wanted to reveal this so soon, but at least he knows the Vindice are keen on holding secrets to gain the upper hand.

He takes a moment, clenching and unclenching his hands. " _I know how to lift the Arcobaleno curse._ "

Chains shoot out and around him, locking him in place, and Tsuna bites down on the immediate reaction to release his flames in retaliation. The metal chains tighten their grip on him, and he holds his expression and body language in a forced projection of calm.

Bermuda lifts from Jager's shoulder, black flames flickering around him.

" _You are a civilian. A civilian, who has not yet taken the vow, who has knowledge of the mafia that a civilian should not have. A civilian who is playing a_ dangerous _game, who does not understand the gravitas of which he speaks. You have not been publicly acknowledged as a candidate for Vongola Don, and though they would investigate your sudden disappearance, the consequences would not be severe._ " Bermuda floats up to Tsuna, and the smell of death and decay surrounds him like a vice. " _There is nothing stopping me from ensuring that you never see the light of day again_."

Tsuna stares at the deceptively diminutive Vindice in front of him and smiles, his eyes flashing brilliant orange as he loosens his concentrated grip on his flames. He conspicuously shifts the chains and Jager's aborted movement towards them isn't missed.

" _You think that I don't know who it is that I'm dealing with, but I'm fairly certain it's actually the other way around, Bermuda._ " His grin stretches, showing too much teeth to be genuine. " _I know you, I know your laws, and I know that by those very same regulations you_ cannot _follow through with that threat._ "

The room grows even colder. Tsuna has encountered many volatile and powerful individuals in his life, but no one has quite mastered the level of frigid, stone-cold _fury_ that Bermuda has always seemed to command.

Tsuna holds Bermuda's gaze (or an approximation of it) for a few moments as the surrounding Vindice all but bristle, waiting for a movement or command to attack. But then Bermuda hovers back and away, back to Jager. When he nods, the chains slacken and retreat back into tattered black robes.

" _Explain_."

Tsuna releases a quiet breath as he feels genuinely calmer than before. The Vindice, no matter how many times he may have dealt with them in the past, always prove to be an intimidating force.

" _I have an… Acquaintance of sorts, who is well-versed in flames and was a trusted confidante of many mafia Dons in the past. I have asked him to handle the fine-tuning, as I am no craftsman and my level of expertise in flame only goes so far as practical application. He is an expert on the subject and will be handling the more complicated matters_."

When Bermuda makes no motion to interject, Tsuna continues. " _The basic idea is to sustain the Flames of Sky while simultaneously amplifying them as time passes. This acquaintance of mine is the one who will handle the actual making of a mechanism that is based on Vongola Primo's technique, and will not only contain the flames but will also 'freeze' them, preventing the flames from snuffing out without a will to power them_."

" _Of course, flame receptive glass isn't enough to actually maintain the flames, but Flames of Sky have a property where—when they accelerate past a certain speed—they are amplified. I don't think I have to explain to you where your Flames of Night come into play._ " The last part is added on as an afterthought.

"... _Lifting the curse now will not aid us in any way,_ " Bermuda says after a momentary silence, but his tone is one of his usual neutrality.

 _He's still testing me and what I know,_ Tsuna thinks a bit wryly. " _Yes, but it's to my understanding that the Vindice have a long-standing grudge against Checkerface_."

Several Vindice twitch at that, almost comically. Bermuda gives a minute nod.

" _Well, the solution requires Flames of Night. Considering this, it is a necessity that the pacifiers be left in your care, out of Checkerface's reach._ "

The argument sounds weak to Tsuna's ears, but the Vindice in his time seemed content enough with their small revenge against Kawahira. He had found it more than a little ridiculous at the time, but it _worked_ , and he could only hope that the same applies here.

As he hopes, Bermuda seems amenable to the idea. He motions to nod, and that's when Tsuna interrupts before he can think better of it. " _Pardon, but before you agree—I'd also like to secure your aid should relations between Vongola and Simon turn sour._ " He absently taps his fingers to his palm. " _After all, the families are forbidden to fight one another, a law upheld by you. You would not interfere until that law is broken, and by that point we will have another issue on our hands that we could do without_."

His eyes don't gain an orange hue, but he aims a hard stare at the Vindice. " _You have the ability to clear any misunderstandings Simon may have. I won't let you skirt your own promises as you may try._ "

The Vindice collectively seem to take offense at that, one even lurching forward with chains rattling and hissing along the stone floor.

Bermuda's head snaps to the side. " _Stop._ "

They obey and don't make a move towards Tsuna, but the atmosphere remains tense. Bermuda turns to Tsuna. " _You believe that a conflict may arise_."

It isn't phrased as a question, and there is an underlying tone of accusation.

" _I think that it is a_ possibility _. You know the time period Daemon lived his life, and you know that he was involved in Vongola's 'betrayal._ '" Tsuna's expression gains a brittle edge. " _Even though it's slim, the chance that Simon may take offense and dredge up past grievances is still a factor. I am just being thorough_."

A long stretch of silence lingers in the air before Bermuda nods at last, accepting of the conditions.

Privately, Tsuna finds it both funny and ridiculous just how much posturing and dramaticism went into this exchange alone. _While they don't particularly care about the usual courtesies and power-plays in meetings between mafia groups, they sure do like to exercise their own brand of dominance_ , he thinks wryly.

" _Then the agreement stands under these conditions. I agree that Vongola should be held accountable for Daemon's sentencing, and it will be allowed for Sawada Tsunayoshi to be the warden of Mukuro Rokudo, Ken Joshima, Chikusa Kakimoto, and M.M. You will be responsible for the handling of Daemon Spade and the rekindling of relations with Simon—with the Vindice's aid—when the time comes._ "

" _However, you will be held responsible for any crimes your wards commit from now on, and all five of you will be placed back in the Vendicare should you fail to keep them in line. Should you be unable to appropriately deal with the first generation Vongola Mist, the same applies. Do you understand?_ "

" _I understand,_ " Tsuna says. Bermuda nods approvingly.

" _Your eyes speak of a wisdom and cunning that contradicts your physical age. Perhaps it is good fortune for you that you have an answer to the curse,_ " Bermuda says. " _Very well then. We have a deal, Sawada Tsunayoshi._ "

And then Tsuna is engulfed in black flames.

He's only given a moment to panic and wonder if he messed up _again_ , his own flames stuttering and flaring to life, before he's unceremoniously dumped into snow.

Tsuna looks up and around as he scrambles to his feet, taking in the familiar sight of the Vendicare's entrance. The urge to aim a glare at Jager and Bermuda, who are standing at the foot of the stairs, is quickly tamped down when four more portals twist into existence, revealing faces that he feels like he hasn't seen in forever.

 _They look different_ , is the first thought that pops into his mind. It's obvious they would look different, _all_ of the people he remembers from his future-past are different here. But he had forgotten just how Mukuro wore his distrust and vengeance like a cloak, how Ken and Chikusa were entirely devoted to Mukuro alone prior to becoming family. M.M., shivering in the cold and looking isolated, is nearly unrecognizable.

" _We will be watching. Do not disappoint me._ " With Bermuda's piece said, Jager turns, heading up the steps in a slow ascent.

Tsuna takes one look between his new charges and the Vindice, wincing slightly. " _... Ah, wait. You wouldn't happen to be feeling a bit generous, would you?_ " He ignores the four disbelieving stares he can feel aimed at the back of his head. " _None of us have passports, and it'd be quicker if we didn't have to take a flight back…_ "

Bermuda turns around from his perch on Jager's shoulder to regard him blankly. " _I do not know the extent of your knowledge. But shouldn't you, with your closely held wisdom and information, be able to handle the situation on your own?_ "

Tsuna cracks a resigned smile. _Maybe I irked him more than I first thought_. But at the same time, this is a bit like Bermuda's dry tone of teasing that he recalls, so he has either royally _pissed_ him off or actually impressed him.

Who knows? It could be both.

" _I understand. I'm not looking forward to traversing these mountains again, but I guess we could all use the challenge._ " He takes a step back and gives a casual, weak wave. " _See you later, Bermuda, Jager._ "

Bermuda nods his head, Flames of Night wrapping around him and Jager. " _Good day, Sawada Tsunayoshi. Contact us when you are ready to proceed._ "

Tsuna has a moment to quietly wonder, _how?_ just as they disappear. He releases a heavy sigh, posture slumping slightly as the previous tension and adrenaline ebbs away, leaving _fatigue_ in its place.

… He's almost done. He managed to talk to Aria and gain her trust, managed to convince _Bermuda_ , and at this point as long as he can come off as someone mildly trustworthy to Mukuro and the others he's ready to call this trip a success.

He's tired, cold, hungry, and his nerves are frayed. At least while he was Decimo he had a wide selection of wines, meals, and methods of stress relief to choose from following particularly difficult meetings. Until he gets home, he still has to settle for plane food and the snacks he stowed away.

(He thinks about the meal his mother will probably prepare for him when he gets back, and gets the strong urge to hug her.)

After gathering the remainder of his mental energy, Tsuna turns to the group of four and nods his head in greeting. " _My name's Tsuna, and I'm the person that just negotiated for your release, if you couldn't already tell. What should I call you?_ "

They remain silent, with Ken and Chikusa projecting a quiet barrier around each other and Mukuro. Tsuna feels a brief bout of confusion over M.M.'s distant behavior before the facts click into place.

… _Right. She wasn't from Estraneo, and didn't actually join them until the Vendicare breakout… which isn't going to happen because of me._

Time-travel is anything but simple. Changing events is part of his plan, yes, but at this rate he won't be able to keep track of what he changes and what said alterations _incur_.

Well. If there's anything he's learned from Reborn—and he's learned a lot, both bad and good—it's to know how to adapt to the unexpected.

He takes a moment to adjust the strap of his bag before gesturing at the three ex-Estraneo. " _These three are Mukuro Rokudo, Ken Joshima, and Chikusa Kakimoto._ " He then waves in M.M.'s direction. " _This is M.M. Play nice._ "

Silence and distrusting, slightly bemused stares are the reply.

" _I'll keep this simple. You will come with me, because I know more reliably than you how to navigate these mountains to make it back to civilization. We can talk on the way there, but for now, follow me._ "

Tsuna turns on his heel and starts walking, pretending not to see the brief glances exchanged as he does so. When the crunch of snow behind him reaches his ears, he only feels slightly relieved.

They aren't even clear of the penitentiary when he feels the familiar trickle of Mist flames start to bubble around them. Tsuna is torn between reluctant amusement and the heavy weight of the realization that he has to go through this _again_.

… This is going to be a long trek back.

* * *

Kyōya arrives at the Sawada household with an aura of murder surrounding him like a cloak.

Sawada Tsunayoshi disappeared Friday afternoon after school, and he _missed their sparring session for today_. It's a terrible mistake on his part, which Kyōya intends to correct with a tonfa to the face as a firm reminder of the fact.

But when he storms up the path, ready to either smash down the door or leap up to where he believes the boy's room is, the front door swings open, revealing a tall blond man that blinks in surprise.

"Oh? Hey there, kid!" The man smiles, ambling towards a frozen Kyōya. "What're you doing here? Visiting?"

Kyōya holds back the immediate and shocking reflex to take a step back, because he is not _weak_ and that would be a sign of _weakness_. He does withdraw his tonfas and shift to a more battle-ready stance, however—there is something about this man, something that Kyōya can't quite place. He's smiling, but it's a smile that almost gives a similar feeling that his relative's does. A facade to fool others of the power hidden beneath.

"Do you know Tuna-fish? Your uniform is from the same school, I think." The man rubs at the stubble on his chin as he stares at Kyōya's jacket. "You're a little weird to be wearing it on the weekend, but to each his own, I guess. Anyway, do you know where Tsuna is?"

Kyōya twitches. "Why do you ask."

The man lets out a barking laugh. "Just wondering! I heard that my little Tuna-fish had gone out on a school trip, but I wasn't told until after the fact! So I was wondering if he had used it as an excuse to ditch school, or something." He leans towards Kyōya, who inches away, to whisper pseudo-conspiratorially. "He isn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, so he needs all the learning he can get."

Kyōya represses the instinctive urge to attack and narrows his eyes—he hadn't known the other boy had a father to begin with, maybe _that's_ why—and, inexplicably, lies.

"... Sawada Tsunayoshi is with me."

The man stares at Kyōya for a brief moment, humor gone and eyes sharp, even as his mouth stretches into a slow smile. Kyōya's dominant hand twitches around his tonfa, knowing that the man before him is not nearly as herbivorous as he seems.

"Oh? I can't help but notice he isn't here! … Unless, are you hiding him in your jacket? I know he's small, but—"

"He _owes me_ , so he is paying that off," Kyōya says, jaw clenched. For all that the Sawada patriarch is likely a powerful individual, his presence and herbivorous personality _grates_. Tsunayoshi would definitely owe him after this. "He will be released once he has sufficiently paid off his debt."

"... Are you, by chance, a friend of my little Tsuna-fish?"

Kyōya represses a full-body twitch into a single, strained blink. "... Yes."

The aggravating man lets out a raucous laugh, and this time Kyōya doesn't mask his flinch when a hand collides with his shoulder. The blond starts to manhandle him towards the house, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint Kyōya has to not lash out.

"Honey! One of Tsuna's friends are here! We should let him eat with us!"

Sawada Tsunayoshi owes Hibari Kyōya a damn _lifetime_.

* * *

 **A/N : RIP Tsuna tbh.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** **: I have very little know-how on writing Mukuro &co, so please excuse my floundering around as I BS this to the nth degree. Wordcount is ~7.6k**

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

* * *

 _It was a bond born from necessity, strengthened over time—turned to undying loyalty and an unspoken trust._

 _He had reached out to them with war in his eyes and a vendetta in his heart, an indomitable force that left destruction in his wake. He promised a world free of corruption, one without the vile scum that had made them. He promised retribution and an end to the world that had shaped them. He called to them, offered justice, and they followed._

 _They battled, they killed, they_ conquered _, and they had swept across the mafia as the underworld's bogeymen, despite their young ages._

 _But they were stopped. After tearing down numerous organized groups of trained, experienced mafiosi, they were stopped by a_ child _their own age. And they were dragged back to their prisons, kept under careful watch, their jailers more stringent than they had been._

 _He watched him. Sawada Tsunayoshi, they all kept a fraction of their attention on him, as he himself tore through the mafia world._

 _(Reluctantly. Always reluctant, but victorious nonetheless.)_

 _They watched their boss change. He took in an injured girl, sheltered her under his influence, accepted her into their ragtag group. He battled for Vongola time and time again through her, helping her, helping_ them _, under the guise of it all playing to his long-term plan._

 _It wasn't a lie in the beginning. But that slowly ebbed away with each battle, each new foe, each new struggle. He watched Sawada Tsunayoshi, and they watched_ him _._

 _Years later, they are still with him. They still follow him, their leader, who promised them the world. His lust for vengeance against a corrupt world has ebbed and condensed to a small focal point, something he has found worth in and quietly protects with the same fervor he once held with destruction at his fingertips._

 _They do not mind. They had followed less because of the promises and more because it was_ him _, even in her case. She had not joined until after they had escaped from death at the hands of the Vindice, but she, too, followed because of the will he embodies._

 _And when_ they _become an issue, they still do not budge. They follow him to the heart of battle, vowing to follow him even into the pits of hell should he ask. They follow despite Sawada telling them not to._

 _They fall, one by one, with Ken being the first, M.M. next, and Chikusa last._

 _They see terror and vengeance and a promise of_ war _reignite in their boss' eyes as they fade into the darkness, and it is with the quiet relief that_ he _will not be extinguished,_ cannot _be defeated. Not with those eyes, not with his will of the dying._

 _They believe in him. Because even though they may respect Sawada Tsunayoshi for holding_ his _favor, their loyalty has and will always be solely with Mukuro._

* * *

Iemitsu smiles down at his adoring wife with relief and happiness filling him.

He had been worried. It was rare for him to leave work—he hardly allowed himself to take vacations from his work to see his growing son let alone to verify a small _worry_ —but it was even rarer for Nana to call and sound so… Distressed.

When Iemitsu received that phone call, he'd immediately been on guard due to that fact that it was something disturbing to even his wife—Nana, the love of his life, who is a bit easygoing and airheaded—and considering it was in regards to their son who Timoteo only recently decided to have Reborn train, Iemitsu had quickly made his way over to Japan.

In hindsight, "worried" wasn't really a strong enough word to describe what he had felt, however.

The possibilities were endless. Even though Primo had managed to settle in Namimori with little fuss, and despite there being insurances just in case some dissenting famiglia got ideas, there was always the worry that he would overlook something. That some hostile famiglia would be able to trace the Primo's line, or trace Iemitsu's family from him, and put his wife and son in danger.

Timoteo had noticed and, bless him, allowed Iemitsu to fly to Japan so he could personally check that his wife and son were okay.

Everything is all right, however. A few background checks on that kid—the weird one that apparently liked wearing his school uniform even on the weekends, Hibari Kyōya—revealed a connection to the Storm Arcobaleno but one that he himself is mostly unaware of, and his immediate family is uninvolved with the mafia and triads entirely.

Strong with good instincts he may be, what matters is that he is civilian, and therefore the likelihood of his association putting Tuna-fish in danger is low.

(In fact, his association with him is a good thing—he is _strong_ , and if Tsuna is under his watch to the point of him coming here to check on him, then it's just added insurance. Maybe he'll be pulled into the family once Reborn arrives? He would definitely make a powerful ally for Vongola, that's certain.)

Iemitsu had done a thorough sweep of the area as well, and aside from the remnants of a yakuza group, he found no traces of anything worrying. Even though he hadn't actually had the chance to see his Tuna-fish, his worries are more or less abated with the absence of an actual threat looming over the horizon. Whatever it is that had worried Nana is something civilian, he's sure.

There's no outside group trying to threaten his family and he's spent enough time here. He needs to return to help prepare. Nono will be sending Reborn to Japan very soon, and Iemitsu needs to be in Italy to help finalize the arrangements before Xanxus' little group of misfits finds out.

"Well," Iemitsu says regretfully, giving his wife a sturdy hug. "I better go now before everyone starts worrying."

She returns the embrace with a small smile. "Oh, Tsu-kun will be so disappointed he missed you! Are you sure you have to go back to work?"

Iemitsu heaves an exaggerated sigh into her hair. "Yes. I'm sorry honey but we're in a dire place now at work. And you know, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." He kisses her cheek. "I'll be sure to send more postcards! And gifts!"

Nana lets out an airy giggle. "All right dear, you go back to work and make your family proud."

Iemitsu's smile falters a bit at that, but he quickly lets out a barking laugh as he embraces his wife once more for good measure.

Her statement is true enough, and if things work out, Tsuna will, too.

* * *

Almost absentmindedly, Tsuna lifts a hand to knead into his diaphragm.

The mist flames that hover leave a heavy, cloying ball of something distinctly unpleasant in his chest, and it feels like a physical knot in his lungs. The fog is familiar but it isn't the same. Instead of the flames being woven to protect and hide them (as he is used to, as they feel like they have always been) they are directed _at_ him, because _he_ is the perceived threat.

The pain he had felt from his friends' deaths has been numbed to a dull ache with time and acceptance, only giving him the occasional night terror due to just _how_ their lives had ended, but the guarded mistrust that these four direct at him is vastly different from the detached curiosity that he has dealt with up until now. It's been nearly an hour of this utter silence and oppressive weight of distrust.

Tsuna heaves a breath through the unpleasant tightness in his chest and halts his steps. He spins on his heel and asks, " _are you going to ask, or are you going to continue trying to dissect me with your eyes?_ "

The group is stopped several feet back. Ken and Chikusa stand on either side of Mukuro, who affects a brief look of surprise before grinning.

" _Well, if you are willing to answer, then I am all ears._ " But then the smile falls away, and an uncharacteristic look of seriousness takes its place. " _Why did you negotiate for our release?_ "

Tsuna stares unblinkingly at Mukuro, long enough for the other three to start fidgeting. He shrugs. " _I'd like you guys to be my friends._ "

Mukuro's eyelid twitches as the others aim looks with varying levels of skepticism at him. Unsurprisingly, when he takes a step towards them, they all visibly _bristle_ at the shortening distance between them.

The mental image of a hissing Uri briefly flashes through Tsuna's mind, even as he lifts his arms in a placating gesture. " _I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just going to release you from your cuffs._ "

" _What makes you think we won't kill you and leave?_ "

Tsuna aims a _look_ that statement deserves at Mukuro. " _... While I don't doubt that you would_ try _, I'll tell you now: it'll be more than a little futile._ "

Ken opens his mouth, no doubt something impulsive and insulting, but a sharp look from Mukuro silences him.

Tsuna ignores the byplay as he taps his wrists, staring pointedly at the shackles. " _So. Cuffs?_ "

Mukuro narrows his eyes at him, a tight grin in place. " _We would be foolish to reject an invitation for freedom._ "

Tsuna holds his hands out, palms up, and allows them to walk up to him instead of the other way around. He directs his flames to a point to weaken the cuffs and snaps them off one by one. It's a definite plus that aside from intense staring or annoyed grumbling, none of the others think to disturb the process.

When the last of the metal shackles is dropped unceremoniously in the snow, Mukuro rubs his wrists, expression thoughtful. " _... Even the Vindice bowed to you. Who exactly do you have the support of, and what threat are you holding over their heads?_ "

" _No they didn't, I pretty much have no one at the moment, and there was no threat._ " Tsuna nudges the rusted metal with his foot, absently wondering if they're made of a plain metal or have flame conducting properties. It would've been nice if they did. " _A promise, yes, but no threat._ "

Ken wrinkles his nose, looking between Tsuna and Mukuro. " _But you're just a_ kid—"

His words cut off with a loud sneeze.

Tsuna blinks, unslings his bag and starts rummaging through it.

" _What are you doing?_ "

The intense stare Mukuro aims at him is ignored as Tsuna pulls out the bundle of winter-wear that he had stripped his closet of before leaving. " _Clothes. I brought clothes because only an idiot would think that you guys would have anything that would be anywhere near sufficient for traversing the Alps. You guys will freeze to death if we try to go through the mountains in what you're wearing._ "

He casts a look over the group and frowns. " _... I'm glad I brought shoes._ "

M.M. and Ken are quick to grab the offered clothing, even though the former aims a noticeably scornful look at the items. Tsuna takes a moment of quiet amusement to note how far from intimidating they all look with his teenaged-self's clothes on.

" _... These aren't enough,_ " Chikusa says blandly, even as he puts on the clothes over the thin cotton prison material he's wearing. " _The chances of us dying out here are still high._ "

Tsuna glances to him before standing, slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder. " _I think I might already know the answer, but do any of you know how to utilize your flames for basic heat generation? Like a normal fire?_ "

When the only response he gets are blank stares, he closes his eyes and wills his flames to life. They flare brightly, melting the snow around him and making the other four tense, and Tsuna grimaces as he reels them back.

He turns to regard them. " _Stick close to me, then._ "

They hesitate, but when they start moving it's at a slightly closer radius than before.

* * *

" _You use your flames rather freely_."

Tsuna kicks a stray rock the size of his fist to the side. Someone might trip on it, otherwise.

" _It'd be simple for us to catch you when you're off guard, you know._ "

He ignores the comment, offering M.M. a hand to step up on the sloped ridge. It's an impulsive maneuver after years of European etiquette drilled into him via Reborn, and she slaps his hand away with a venomous look before hopping up onto the ridge herself.

" _That output of flames will exhaust you at some point, no doubt before we make it to any town. And the fatigue in your posture is clear to read_."

Tsuna pauses to note the very much _not_ inconspicuous mist flames in the air creating a fog around them, and smiles. " _I don't really have a shortage of flames. My will is far more powerful than you likely think, and the strain I feel is from trying to keep myself from becoming a human bonfire—not from being low on flames_."

He turns to regard Mukuro a bit blandly. " _I'm stressed, tired, and emotionally drained from a long day, but don't take that for a weakness of will. I wouldn't be out here in the Alps if that were even remotely the case._ "

The air snaps.

Ken blurs past Tsuna as he takes a step back, dodging the attack. Chikusa and M.M. charge at him too, the former awkward and the latter uncertain. He spins to the side and avoids their onslaught of attacks, deflecting and dodging.

" _Whoosh!_ " Hands curled like claws strike out towards him, and he ducks again. Another swipe, another dodge and deflection. " _Hyaha, too scared to try and fight back?! You cowar—_ "

Tsuna grabs an arm and _twists_ , spinning on his heel to toss the teen at the snarling mist constructs he can hear forming behind him. Ken lets out a pained yelp as he lands harshly on his arm and slides several meters away, the mist dispersing for the moment.

He ducks a kick from behind and shoves himself backwards, jamming his elbow into Chikusa's chest before spinning around to slam his fist into the same area. He grabs M.M.'s wrist as she tries to attack him, kicks her legs out from under her and throws her towards Chikusa.

They get up and attempt to attack him again, of course. Tsuna focuses less on actually attacking and more on using their own movements against them, letting momentum and gravity to most of the work. A few times he catches himself preparing for an instinctive retaliatory attack or letting his flames grow too intense, and he is reminded that _this_ is why he needs to have more spars.

Tsuna has less of a fighting style and more of an aptitude to adapt in battle situations, and due to his family growing steadily stronger over the years, he learned to adopt both agile and heavy-hitting styles relying on strength, speed, and stamina. But he has a smaller, weaker frame than when he had been in his twenties, and he is not fighting with the intent to kill or seriously injure. If he lets himself fall into habit, "serious injury" is a risk for both the others and himself. Deflection and conservation of energy used offensively is his best bet.

(He doesn't attempt to reason through to them, either. He knows them well enough to know that talking will get him nowhere at the moment, both in that the four of them have been locked up for a while and need an outlet both physically and emotionally.)

A sudden sense of _wrong_ mixed with _right_ invades his thoughts, slowing his movements, making the sharp colors of the world blur, and then—

" _Stop._ "

The command is spoken softly, victoriously. He can see the sneered smile and glowing eyes in his peripherals, one tinted indigo and the other a blazing red.

Tsuna takes a moment to take a clear, gusty breath, and lets Mist flames flare out in a powerful pulse. Mukuro's slack-jawed expression is downright _comical_ but he ignores it, ducking low as he darts closer and striking outwards with a kick.

Mukuro snaps out of his surprise a moment before the attack connects, and instead of Tsuna's foot meeting his face like he had intended, his attack is caught by Mukuro's trident and deflected away. Tsuna lets the momentum carry him and dodges out of the path of the polearm's prongs.

He feints to the side just before he lashes out with his left hand, aiming for the temple but slamming into Mukuro's face instead. He staggers as he holds a hand over his bruised eye, visible eye promising murder.

 _I misjudged that,_ Tsuna thinks with a wince, dodging the trident thrust in his direction. _Sorry._

He flares out his flames once more, and Mukuro shields his eyes as he ducks low, anticipating an attack from the ground again.

But instead of attacking, Tsuna jumps, hand grasping the hood of Mukuro's borrowed jacket, and he lands on him. _Hard_.

Mukuro lets out a strained wheeze through the snow and gravel that his cheek is pressed against.

Tsuna scans the area, noting the conditions of the other three. They're spread out, with Ken hugging his limp arm close, Chikusa laid out on his side, and M.M. struggling to stand.

He frowns. ... _Sloppy. I might have used too much force on them. I shouldn't expect my abilities to be up to par with what I had before, but I clearly need to work a fair bit more._

Mukuro shifts from underneath him, letting out a pained hiss. " _You_ … _You can use_ Mist flames?"

Instead of answering, Tsuna lifts a hand and reaches towards Mukuro's face. Unsurprisingly, his eye widens in barely concealed panic before his struggling increases to frantic motions, but Tsuna—very carefully—lets his hand light up in Sun flames.

Mukuro freezes when he sees the yellow glow, and Tsuna slowly places his hand above the eye he accidentally bruised.

" _What the_ fuck _are you doing!?_ "

Tsuna ignores Ken as he withdraws his hand, nodding to himself. At most, there will be some dark bruising around Mukuro's eye, but the eye itself is fine. He turns to the other three watching him suspiciously.

" _I don't think I broke anything, but I know I at least bruised, and we still have a pretty far walk. Let me heal you._ "

Ken steps forward with a snarl. " _Get the fuck off of him!_ "

Tsuna glances between Ken and Mukuro. " _I will if you can promise me that you won't try attacking me again. I don't want to hurt you guys more than I already have, but I will defend myself if provoked. I'd rather it not come to that._ "

He watches as Chikusa's eyes narrow, M.M. glares, and Ken grits his teeth. They all look ready for another fight, and Tsuna quietly wonders why no one in the mafia seems to know how to back down.

" _... Fine. We won't attack you._ "

Tsuna's eyes snap to Mukuro, narrowed and disbelieving for several seconds, but Mukuro only peers up at him through damp bangs with an unreadable look. He glances once more to the others before giving a small nod and standing up, offering a hand to the Mist he was previously sitting on and receiving a skeptical look for it. " _... All right then. Let me heal you guys._ "

Chikusa strides forward with a single nod from Mukuro, and M.M. follows after a moment of deliberation. Ken stubbornly keeps his distance and glares. " _I don't need to be healed by you. My flames are enough._ "

Tsuna shrugs as Sun flames culminate in his open palms. " _Suit yourself._ "

When he lays a glowing hand on Chikusa's shoulder, the boy stiffens but otherwise remains unmoving. Tsuna quickly pats him down to find the spot he had done the most damage—no broken ribs as he had thought, but he can tell there's a shortness of breath that indicates at least some bruising—and he closes his eyes as he lets his flames do most of the work.

Recalling the information Reborn practically beat down into his mind, along with the helpful lectures Shamal had provided him and the practical application Ryohei had overseen for him, is a more or less simple task. Sun flames have always come easier to Tsuna than some of the other flames like Mist and Storm due to the absolute control and precision needed to either maintain a construct or to not accidentally disintegrate a building. That is especially the case now, when Tsuna's years of honed control simply are not present.

In general, Sun flames are easier to wield for him, needing less precision (though it is still needed) and more force of sheer _will_ , which is likely why Ryohei had been as amazing as he was. As a Sun flame healer it's important to know what one is doing too, of course, so that an activation of the wrong muscles isn't an issue. But again, Tsuna had enough of the necessary knowledge provided for him, and the principle behind Sun flames is activation of target areas—not some precision-healing magic.

… His aptitude for Sun flames is learned conjecture however, as Tsuna honestly doesn't _know_ why Sun flames come easiest to him out of the other five flames. He has quietly wondered if it didn't have to do with his exposure to Reborn, though. He is proficient in all areas but he has always had a particular knack for Sun flames, which, while it could be due to Suns being some of the most intense, could very well be due to Reborn.

He frowns for a moment. Thinking about it, it could also be something caused by his father. _Wasn't there a rumor going around that he could use Sun flames despite not having a guardian bond? He always has seemed a bit too intense for me._ He snorts at his own thoughts. _My actual father and someone who had been the closest thing to a father for me at that age. Go figure._

" _... How do you have the ability to use so many flames?_ "

And to think, Tsuna had almost been able to ignore the stare drilling a hole into the back of his head.

" _I had assumed that you were a Sky flame user, considering your heritage and the color of your flame from earlier, but you have displayed high proficiency in three flame types so far. What are you?_ "

Tsuna blinks, slanting a look over at him. " _... Were they that lenient?_ "

He doesn't have to turn to see the smug smirk that he knows Mukuro is wearing. " _The Vindice are not_ lenient _, it's simply a matter of my skill versus theirs. But yes, in case you were wondering, I did hear enough to figure out who you are._ "

 _Considering your preferred method is dousing the air with a high concentration of your very noticeable Mist flames, I don't really know if it's_ skill _as opposed to_ being lucky _that there's already a lot of fog in the Vendicare Prison_ , Tsuna thinks to himself.

He waves Chikusa off and gestures to M.M. as he considers how to answer the question. Admittedly, he hadn't realized that Sky harmonization actually allowed for practical use of the other Flames of Sky until he was in his twenties, and he knows for a fact that it isn't something well known in this time. He has no worry of Mukuro selling the information, not with his hate of the mafia, and there isn't any fear of him using this to his advantage either—no one in his sphere of influence is a Sky flame user.

" _It's something that my flame's harmonization attribute allows for_ ," he settles on eventually.

He can see that Mukuro's face is uncharacteristically serious, usual grin gone. " _... What, exactly, is your goal here?_ "

" _I already told you._ "

Mukuro's expression twists, not enough to be a sneer, but enough to see the clear distrust and anger. " _Do not think you can lie so easily to an illusionist, Vongola._ "

" _I don't know what you want me to tell you. I told you the truth, and you refuse to believe me._ " Tsuna pats M.M.'s arm to let her know that he's done healing her. He turns to Mukuro. " _Yes, I am hiding things from you, but ultimately it boils down to the fact that I don't want you to be my enemy. I want you to be my friend._ "

" _... You intend for me to be your Mist._ " Mukuro's eyes narrow. " _I refuse._ "

 _Well this is going rather well,_ Tsuna thinks wryly. " _I'm not going to lie to you; that is_ one _of the many goals I have in mind, but I know that it is impossible right now—_ "

" _I will not become a Vongola_ dog _._ "

"— _and all I want right now, is for you four to come back to Japan with me, and live like the teenagers you are for a bit,_ " Tsuna continues, undeterred by the interruption. " _Besides, I think your goal might coincide with mine, regarding the mafia._ "

Mukuro lets out a derisive scoff. " _I find it difficult to believe that you wish to destroy the mafia._

" _You're right that I don't want to destroy it. I want to change it._ "

A brief silence follows the statement. Mukuro smiles, disbelieving and bitter " _Change… the_ mafia _._ "

" _Think about it_ ," Tsuna cuts in before Mukuro can retort with a scathing remark. " _Vongola is the most powerful famiglia in the world, and very soon, I'll be lined up for its inheritance. It may take time, but it wouldn't be very difficult to change the mafia for the better from that position._ "

Mukuro is suddenly right in front of him, trident in hand, a burning look in his eyes that hasn't been directed at him in years. " _I much prefer the option of possessing you and destroying the mafia from the inside out_."

" _Like I said before, you are welcome_ try _._ " Tsuna straightens, and is privately a little irked that he has to look up to maintain eye contact. " _But both of us know what the result of you trying that earlier, was._ "

He isn't intimidated by this younger, more foolhardy Mist. Tsuna has battled with the best, and the Mist that he remembers—that he respected and held respect for him in turn—would _laugh_ if he were to be cowed.

" _You are growing soft,"_ he would say. _"Perhaps you aren't as strong as you like to believe."_

Even though Tsuna isn't Vongola Decimo or Neo Primo or _Vongola_ , he is still Sawada Tsunayoshi—he has, always will be, and it's an innate quality that can't be stolen away from him no matter the circumstances.

His gaze hardens, and his irises gain a bright orange hue. He cracks a smile in reminiscence.

 _Try me._

The spell breaks when Mukuro takes a step back, letting out a quiet laugh that sounds eerily like the Mukuro that Tsuna remembers. " _... Hmph. I suppose I have no choice but to wait for you to lower your guard._ " He rubs his thumb and pointer finger together absently, letting his trident disperse. " _It pains me to admit, but you are a bit too strong-willed for us to attempt to best at the moment, Tsunayoshi._ "

Tsuna blinks back the spots in his vision as his flames recede, pulled tightly within him again. He ignores the flashes of memories that supercede the landscape around him and turns to the others. " _Well. Since that's resolved, let's get moving again._ "

He doesn't expect much of anything yet, but he allows himself to hope.

* * *

The rest of the walk is spent mostly in silence, with the occasional question from Mukuro or quiet conversation between Ken and Chikusa. They stop for a few breaks, because even though Tsuna feels fine he knows that none of them will make it without dropping dead—which is something he'd _really_ rather not let that happen.

It isn't until Ken actually collapses that Tsuna shoves a bottle of water and snacks in his face and tells him to " _be quiet and let me heal you, I don't care what you think you can do on your own, none of us are going to carry you the rest of the way_."

The rest of the trek is made without anymore issues thankfully, even though they are all a bit light-headed by the time they get back to Tsuna's hotel room. Tsuna pulls M.M. aside as the other three get situated, and he ignores her suspicious glare as he speaks.

" _I know you don't feel safe or comfortable at the moment,_ " he says simply. " _That's why I thought I should tell you—while I would prefer that you stay with us, if you want to, you can leave._ "

" _... Do you think I'm_ stupid _?_ " She sneers at him, looking one wrong word away from punching him in the face. " _The Vindice won't let me go so easily. They only let me go because_ you _managed to convince them, and if I leave they'll probably just imprison me again. Don't you_ dare _look down on me_."

Tsuna winces. " _... I apologize, it wasn't my intention to demean you. As it is, yes, we would all be safest sticking close to each other, but you're giving the Vindice a bit too much credit._ " He ignores her incredulous look and hissed comment of, _"too_ much _credit?_ "

" _Ultimately, the agreement stands as long as none of us commit acts that go against their laws. Trust me, they aren't upholding their laws due to some moralistic view, and they don't expect any of us to behave as civilians on the right side of the law. You could technically still have your freedom away from us if you wish, and I just wanted you to know that this is an option I'm willing to give you. I don't know what group you were part of prior to being imprisoned and I don't know if you would want to return. But I wasn't lying earlier—I really would like to be your friend, if possible._ " He absentmindedly rubs at his throat. It's been a long day of discussion and debate for him. " _The question is, what do_ you _want to do?_ "

M.M. glances to the door. " _And you aren't offering this to the others because…?_ "

" _Because I trust Mukuro to not cause a ruckus about as far as I can throw him while simultaneously being weighed down with twenty-kilogram weights on each wrist, and the other two will follow him no matter what._ " Tsuna gives a small smile. " _I also have long-term, relatively harmless goals involving them. They involve you too, but I already told you what they are, and you have the freedom to make your choice._ "

She only glares at him, eyes scanning his face for any sign of a lie. After a few moments of this with no answer, Tsuna nods.

" _If you're still here in the morning then you will come to Japan with the rest of us. If not, then that will be your answer._ " He opens the door to the room and gestures for her to go in first.

She eyes him with her glare affixed as she walks in, making sure shove his arm as she does so.

Tsuna smiles a little bemusedly as he closes the door behind him, and kicks Ken off of one of the beds before going to sleep for the night.

In the morning, all four of them are present and accounted for—if slightly grumpy from being woken up so early—and they head to the airport with only minimal issues. It isn't until they manage to slip past Milan's airport security without any complications that Tsuna fully feels the exhaustion settle in.

This whole trip has been unbelievable levels of tiring, both physically and mentally (though the former isn't as much as surprise as the latter). Not to mention, these four mark the third time in the last _thirty-six hours_ that he's had to try to convince highly suspicious and skeptical people. Yes he has had to do similar in the future-past, but for one, he had the privilege of throwing his title around a bit, and there wasn't so much riding on the successes of each one.

Tsuna is downright _exhausted_ , and he tries not to think of how much more hectic his life will be once Reborn and everyone else filters into it.

… Yet, distantly, he finds comfort in the thought, and when he falls asleep he dreams of living in a mansion in need of constant repair with a family that's the furthest stretch from "normal" possible.

It's a family he would trade the world for.

* * *

Tsuna turns to the group behind him with a frown. "Behave as well as possible. Don't be rude to kaa-san, and please, be polite."

He pauses when he gets four bland stares. " _... Do you guys know Japanese?_ "

" _Yes, we do,_ " Chikusa says as lifts a hand to adjust the glasses that aren't there. " _We have Japanese names._ "

Tsuna bites back the reply that them having Japanese names really has nothing to do with _anything_ considering they have lived in Italy their whole lives. He turns to M.M. instead. " _What about you?_ "

She glares at him. "I can speak Japanese just fine."

Tsuna lifts his hands in a placating gesture.

He fishes the house key from his bag and unlocks the door, announcing his entrance as he and the others slowly filter in. They eye the shoe rack and decor a bit blankly, but follow his lead when he takes off his shoes and shuffles down the hallway.

"Tsuna? Is that you?" Nana calls from within the house, seemingly from the living room. The muffled sounds of the TV cut off. "Welcome home! You know, you just missed your father!"

Tsuna _freezes_.

That… That doesn't make sense. What had he changed? He knows that he's already changed quite a bit, actually, but what caused _this_? His father wasn't supposed to come back for a while, not until after Reborn arrived in Namimori. Other than visiting Italy, there is nothing he can think of that would cause his father to visit prematurely—and if this change _is_ because Tsuna was in Italy, why would he come here instead of look for Tsuna? _What did I change_?

Sawada Iemitsu may be a bumbling fool of a father on good days, but his presence in Vongola is an _immense_ one. And while Tsuna had some fairly serious issues with his father when he was a child, he _did_ eventually grow past most of it and was able to see that being a poor family-man did not directly translate into poor work-ethic or a lack of intelligence and skill.

He had been banking on the complete absence of the man that occurred the last time. Iemitsu had not actually decided to grace his family with his presence until well after Reborn arrived, here in Namimori due to famiglia business. Tsuna hadn't thought that that would change but, evidently, that isn't the case.

Iemitsu is such a pivotal piece of Vongola that gaining his suspicions directly translates to gaining the suspicions of _Vongola_. Considering Tsuna's goals, that would be very, very bad.

Nana peers around the corner and beams, walking out in her fluffy house slippers and home-wear. "Oh! Are you four Tsu-kun's friends?"

Tsuna mentally kicks his thoughts to the side and nods, a little uncertain. "You could say that. Rokudo Mukuro, M.M., Kakimoto Chikusa, and Joshima Ken. Due to, _circumstances_ , they need to stay over. Is that okay, or…?"

Nana claps her hands with a beaming grin. "Of course! For how long?"

Tsuna glances to the group—bemusedly noting the varying looks of shellshocked—and frowns. "... Well, I was hoping until further notice."

Nana blinks, and casts a worried look at the four. "That's fine of course, but what about your parents?"

"We don't have parents," Mukuro cuts in, looking like someone kicked a puppy in front of him. Tsuna double-takes.

… Mukuro's acting ability grew better in the future, he knows. It wasn't particularly _bad_ before, but between his hyper intuition and Tsuna just _knowing_ Mukuro, his acting never got much more than a creeping chill from how contrived it all seemed. Now is no different.

Nana gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh! That's terrible, _goodness_. How have you been living up until now? What happened? Are you okay?"

"They're fine kaa-san," Tsuna quickly interjects, interrupting Ken before he can say something likely rude, "they just need a place to stay for now."

"That's fine, you so _rarely_ have friends over and this is a great opportunity for some bonding!" Nana tilts her head to the side, her gaze lifting skyward. "Hmm… It may be a bit too cramped to have all four of you stay in Tsu-kun's room. We have a spare room that I can clean up, wait down here while I go prepare it."

Mukuro shoots a look at Ken and Chikusa, and they seem to get the message, as they follow after Tsuna's mother while saying that they'll help. Or rather, Chikusa voices it while Ken gives an agreeing huff. After a moment M.M. trails after them uncertainly, and Nana is quick to diffuse the awkward atmosphere, saying that her hair is "the _loveliest_ shade of red I have ever seen!" M.M. blushes, Ken makes a face, and Chikusa's expression is as bland as ever.

Tsuna watches as they trail up the stairs, with Nana engaging in lilting conversation with M.M. and Ken as Chikusa follows after them silently.

" _... You are either careless or dangerously trusting. Not only have you led four highly suspect criminals into your home, you just allowed three to accompany your mother into another room._ "

Tsuna moves to set his bag down on the couch, sitting next to it and fluffing the pillows. " _It's trust, not carelessness. I trust that I made my case. I'm not about to repeat everything when you already know what I said._ "

" _And_ ," he tacks on, when he sense more than sees Mukuro shift to retort, " _you and I both know that you don't know the full measure of my power. You know that I am capable of taking all four of you on if needed. I wouldn't though, because there's no need to, and because you've already made your decision._ "

Tsuna eyes the pillows for a moment before lying down, stretching across the upholstery with a sigh. Mukuro is silent for a few beats. " _… Fair enough. But do not expect us to behave like anything beyond acquaintances. Our presence here will be limited to begin with, and you will rarely see us._ "

Tsuna glances at Mukuro, who is standing a few feet away from him. He already knows the answer, but voices his question anyway." _… Why?_ "

A secretive smirk is the answer. " _I wonder._ "

He rolls his eyes. Of course, Mukuro had always had a habit of _defaulting_ to cryptic, even for something as mundane as this. " _Fine. By the way, and_ completely _unrelated, there's an abandoned amusement park up north from here called Kokuyo Healthy Land. It's a bit further away, but several of its old amenities could likely be put back in working condition, and there's a lot of space, so it'll serve well enough as a base of operations for you and your little group. Will that do?_ "

Mukuro blinks slowly. " _... Is that the praised Vongola Intuition speaking?_ "

" _Good question._ I wonder _._ "

His eyelid twitches, but he smiles nonetheless, gaze settling on the far wall as he crosses his arms. " _I suppose it's pointless to tell you that we won't be staying here indefinitely, then._ "

 _Yes_ , Tsuna thinks to himself. He knows Mukuro and the others too well to believe that they would feel comfortable living in this too-civilian, too-crowded home with someone they acknowledge as a threat. A low-risk, seemingly benign threat to be sure, but a threat nonetheless. The idea of Reborn arriving to see the ex-convicts is an amusing one, but it was never a thought Tsuna put actual credence in.

" _It was always the plan for you to branch out on your own. I know that all you and others want right now is some breathing room to reacclimate to freedom, and that's what I want for you, too._ " He turns his head from where he's lying down, pinning Mukuro with a tired look. " _I wasn't kidding when I said that I wanted to be your friend. Part of the reason why I even went to Italy was to get you out of the damned prison. A penitentiary is no place for anyone to live._ "

Mukuro's smile fades. He continues staring sightlessly at the wall for a moment before closing his eyes, and breathes, his shoulders lifting and falling once. He turns away to walk up the stairs in silence.

Tsuna stares after him until he disappears, and he lets out a sigh as he closes his eyes.

He's asleep not even a minute later.

* * *

They stand alone in the guest room.

Ken and the girl named M.M. are downstairs, trying to help Sawada's mother (and failing, by the sounds of shattering ceramic and chaos). Sawada himself must be somewhere downstairs as well, doing who knows what.

Chikusa doesn't particularly care. He has questions, a few concerns, and most are directed to the only other occupant of the room. "Mukuro-sama."

Mukuro slants a look towards him and lifts an eyebrow. " _... You have quickly adapted to the situation, I see._ "

"' _When in Rome_ ,' as foreigners say."

He snorts, turning away. " _Do as you please. Something as menial as that isn't any of my concern._ "

Chikusa watches him for a moment. "Why did you agree to this?"

Mukuro's expression can't be seen from his viewpoint, but the silence is answer enough. "Ken and I will follow you no matter what, but that doesn't mean we're not puzzled by this course of action."

" _... You say that as if we are not still working towards our goal._ "

Chikusa motions to push up the glasses that aren't there and frowns. "No. I was simply under the impression that you were not willing to wait, and that you might have found the convenience a bit more suspicious than you seem to."

Mukuro turns to him then, though his gaze remains distant. " _... Staying under the constant vigilance of the Vindice is a rather large_ in _convenience. We were already planning on leaving their 'care.' Tsunayoshi's appearance simply presented an opportunity, and I took it._ "

"And?" Chikusa presses, frowning. "What if this ends up being some trap? We know the Vindice more than we know Sawada Tsunayoshi."

Mukuro gives a quiet laugh. " _I doubt that boy has it in him to kill any of us. It is a weakness that I thoroughly intend to exploit._ "

 _Would you be reluctant to betray him_? The question rings in Chikusa's head and the words rest at the tip of his tongue. Because this deviation in itself is something out of the ordinary for his single-minded boss, and despite Mukuro's resolve to destroy the mafia remaining steadfast, he can still sense a subtle shift elsewhere within him.

Chikusa considers his leader with a sharp gaze. He isn't relaxed—he never is, never has been in Chikusa's memory—but he definitely isn't as on edge as he's seen him, considering they are in the territory of an unknown. Admittedly, Chikusa himself also feels the compulsion to drop his guard and relax, if only because of the stark contrast between their previous stone prisons and this warm, homely atmosphere.

But he knows that isn't everything to the situation. They were all moved by Sawada's presence, Mukuro being no exception. He is a threat, an unknown, someone who could possibly stand on equal footing with the mafia's police, but he insists on treating them all as amicably as possible without being overbearing. It isn't contrived, and if anything he seems to know that pretty words and a constant vigilance would only put them on edge, instead allowing them free reign so long as they behave politely and "legally."

(Not all that lenient, but ultimately far more lenience than any of them would have received in the Vendicare. Death was all that awaited them, and the fact that Sawada would let them roam around his house and town without following them is telling.)

When Mukuro's attention is brought to the door, where the sounds of chaos and clattering kitchenware has grown louder, Chikusa decides to put his worries aside and keep his question unvoiced. The important thing is that he and Ken will follow Mukuro into the depths of hell if asked—already have in a sense—and whether that means following Sawada Tsunayoshi on his path to change the mafia or destroying him to accomplish their original goal, it doesn't matter.

Their loyalties are solely, and will only ever be, with Mukuro.

* * *

 **AN** **: I'm pretty sure that the three other Kokuyo nerds poke fun at Mukuro in varying degrees, but I still think they put him on a grander pedestal than he should be tbh.**

 **Next chapter is less a chapter and more a collection of ideas that really need to be organized, so I can't actually give an estimate on when it'll be out. There is also a moderate chance I will be out of the country this winter without much time to write. Either way,** _ **soon**_ **is definitely not applicable, sorry :/**


End file.
